Second Chances
by EmelineCarter92
Summary: After Matthew's return from the war, he struggles to adjust, suffering from shell shock, not just the paralysis. Many characters, upstairs and down, have a great importance in Matthew's recovery, during 1917, late 1918 and beyond. War has a way of distinguishing what is important and what isn't. Missing scenes from my For Ever and Ever series.
1. Prologue: November 1916

Downton was falling on hard times. The paintings and the family bible that had been in the family for four hundred years had to be sold. Matthew took interest in the wines and brandies they drank at dinner, suggesting to Robert that they could sell the, have an auction. Robert already had the idea on his mind, he would have Carson take an inventory of the cellar. The fourth and fifth Earl's of Grantham had had a good taste in wines and they had fetched a fairing price.

There was another matter, paying the staff. But that seemed to have taken care of itself. Young service men were being called off to war and the young woman who would be hired as maids were joining the war effort. It would be hard to fill those positions even after the war. The young men that did survive, it was doubtful that they would want to return to service, including the young women that would find a respectable living in a working class job. But that would be for another time.

The great house was still bustling despite falling on dark times. You almost could imagine, almost forget that they were in a middle of a war. The sinking of the Britannic was the most recent news that made it's way downstairs.

"All those people, it's like the Titanic all over again." Daisy said.

"No, it's not." Miss Patmore was growing impatience with the girl's nonsense. " It was sunk by a German mine, not an iceberg."

"Still, all those poor souls.."

"A lot of people are losing their lives. We must get on with ours." Miss Patmore didn't mean to sound harsh or cold hearted. They didn't have time to stop and mourn, with all the doom and gloom, they still had a duty, a house to help run. Just because the whole world was fighting that didn't mean that they could stop. It chased away the looming shadow of war, kept them from getting sucked in to it. And working would take her mind off of worrying. She hadn't heard from her nephew Archie in weeks.

Carson and Miss Hughes were struggling to fill two positions. They had managed to secure a footman and a maid but they were still short two of each.

Miss Hughes had just finished interviewing a sixteen year old, Irish girl, Tally. She had a lot of similarities with Daisy and she was already starting to like the girl. She had no parents or family, what the housekeeper had gathered. No matter her background, she was very promising.

"Any such luck?" She asked Carson as she entered his office.

"Not a promising morning." Carson grumbled in his usual drawl.

"Was there no one then?"

"There is one that might do. He says he's a footman before the war. He seems well set up, clean cut, intuitive, smart."

She sensed a but coming on. "What are your doubts about him?" Elsie sighed.

"I doubt he'll stick. He is after all O'Brien's nephew."

"We should put no bearing on him for what O'Brien's done. And if he is how you say he is, perhaps we should try him, at any rate."

"I think I might try him. If you approve."

She did. She liked Daniel O'Brien. And was willing to give him a go. Carson wasn't sure about Tally. He didn't know if Miss Patmore could handle another Daisy.

"The girl is smarter than she lets on." Miss Hughes tried to put Carson's mind to ease.

"How do you know that?"

"I was a girl her age once."

Did Carson blush?

"Did you find anyone?" Lord Grantham later asked Miss Hughes.

"Only one housemaid. Young enough to train. And a footman. Thank God. Carson looks like he's about to drop. But he doesn't think he'll stay."

"Why not?"

"Too independent. I suppose. I'm not sure. There's something about him that I like, a sort of quietness."

"In what way?"

"He won't disclose why he hasn't enlisted but before the war he was a footman at Dean Park."

"Well, that's something we can check at any rate. How old is he?"

"Twenty-six. And he's O'Brien's nephew."

Robert showed curiosity but seemed more curious in his cuff links. "No wonder Carson showed his doubt. Is he anything like her, from what you seen?" He lightly teased.

" He doesn't have her charming personality, that's for sure. Excellent qualities needed for service." She paused for a moment. "Still young enough to join up. I'm sure he has a story to tell but I doubt he ever will tell it."

"You always think everyone has a story to tell." Robert would always here from Carson, the woman's generosity. He struggled with his cuff links. "Infernal things."

"I can call up Mr Bates for you."

"No. I'll ring for him."

When Mrs. Hughes turned to go, Robert stopped her for a moment. "Mrs. Hughes.."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I think things worked out for now. One footman and a house maid will do perfectly well. I don't want to hire anymore servants. I know it will mean extra work..."

"Do you want me to take down the advertisement then?"

"Yes, if you would."

That had solved their problems for now. In 1918 they would take on a temporary footman who was older when the work became too much, the downstairs consisted mainly of women. They would need at least one more man for the heavy lifting. Robert had only approved it as it was only temporary. Daniel would out last his stay as once doubted.

Robert liked Daniel and had stood up for him and William when they were given a white feather. Daniel wished he could repay it. But if he did, if he was asked why he wouldn't join up, he would lose his job.

Robert would become thankful for him in many ways.

* * *

_**Note: This chapter takes place a few months after Matthew and William were declared missing, in August 1916 but are found six weeks later in September, 1916. **_


	2. Tally:1916

Tally's first day had been going well. Until she clambered into Daniel while he was coming in through the servants door. Luke warm tea, utensils and plates clattered to the floor, the china smashing into pieces.

"I'm so sorry Tally." Daniel apologized. "I didn't see you."

He and Daisy immediately bent to help clean up the broken shards.

"No, it was me. I'm always clumsy."

Miss Hughes came into the room. "Did someone not mind the servants door this time?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Hughes." Daniel began.

"It was me, Miss Hughes. I should have watched where I was going."

"Well, thank goodness it wasn't hot." Quipped Miss Hughes.

"What about the tea?" Tally protested. "I've ruined it. I ruined their evening tea. Now they'll throw me out." She felt like her throat was beginning to close. She couldn't go back there from where she came. She could not possible survive it if she was put through that sort of environment again.

"No one is going to throw anyone out."

"What's going on here?" Carson's voice boomed.

"Please don't punish me. It was an accident, promise." The young girl seemed to shake at Carson's words, her head down, not making eye contact.

"No one's going to..." Miss Hughes started.

"Please don't punish me."

"We don't punish servants for accidents." Carson said calmly but it did nothing to calm the poor girl. "Steady on." Was all he could say. Situations like this were quite foreign to him. They were staff and weren't meant to be treated with kid gloves. But a part of his heart held sympathy and warmth toward the young maid. She looked a bit older than she appeared but as she coward in fear, she appeared a lot younger. He wished he could show her that she had nothing to fear from him but that was quite difficult without putting his authority in jeopardy. If he showed favoritism in the least, they wouldn't take him seriously.

"It was only an accident." Daisy said to her, stepping in, when no when else was going to. Tally was closer in age to her, maybe that would help. She would want someone to tell her that she wasn't alone neither was she the only when that made mistakes. "It happens to me sometimes. It happens a lot actually, people coming in and out."

"Tally, really, it wasn't your fault." Daniel stated. He couldn't quite get through to her. Daisy's kindness seemed to pennate her wall of fear.

Tally stood up with the assistance of Miss Hughes and Daisy.

"Come on now, dear, let's get you out of those wet clothes." The housekeeper led her to the linen closet and handed her a new uniform.

"Do you mind if I change in here?"

Miss Hughes found it a bit peculiar but didn't protest it. She probably felt embarrassed enough as it was. "Just make it quick." She hesitated at the door, deciding that she should say something. She turned back to her. "Mr. Carson can seem rather frightening at times but he has a big ol' heart, he just doesn't let it be shown. We look after our own here."

"Thanks, Miss Hughes."

Anna was on her way to put the fresh linens in the closet. She opened the door to find the new house maid. She had her shirt half way on, when Anna saw the faint pink scars on her back, some of which were still healing.

They caught each other's gaze. The girl's eyes round as saucers. "What are you staring at?"

Anna pretended she hadn't seen. "I was just putting these away."

She swiftly took the linens from Anna.

Anna told her husband about it, "It looks as if she's been beaten."

"We can't do anything about it, unless she wants us to. Wherever she came, whatever she's been through, Downton is the place for her to heal. Isn't that why we call came here?"

Anna nodded. How could she forget?

"We all have our scars." Her husband continued.

* * *

The next morning after their encounter, Tally seemed frightened of Anna. Anna had found it quite preposterous. She wanted to show the young girl that not everyone downstairs was against her. Anna and Daisy showed her the ropes. She was thankful that they were ever so kind.

"I can't be thrown out." She was near tears. "I'm not usually clumsy, just when I'm nervous. And I don't think I'll ever be any good. I can't get set out. I just can't."

"Now, now, it won't come to that." Anna said, resting a hand on the girl's red locks instead of putting her arm around her, being mindful of the cuts.

Normally Tally didn't like anyone touching her. She did not mind it that much this time, perhaps she was too upset to properly care.

"Not if we help ye." This was from Daisy. She was already like an older sister to her.

"Right." Anna replied, not expecting the back up. "It just takes practice."

Tally had not yet met the heir of Grantham. She wanted to make things perfect for him, as she helped with the dinner. She carried entries, dashing and dodging to navigate the crowded kitchen. Her moves were graceful like a dancers.

Daniel didn't believe her to be clumsy. He was such a big oaf just like his cousin Alfred. He worked in a hotel and once he dumped a whole tray on a Lady's lap. Knocking into her had been his fault, he had told her that. He hadn't watched where he was going. He'd been over six feet tall since he was eleven. Here he was at twenty-six, tripping over his own two feet. She was the kindest person he ever met but he was too old for her. She had to be about fifteen, not sixteen as was the required age to work at Downton. It was obvious to him that she had lied about her age. He wouldn't out her and get her into trouble. The only person closest to her age on the staff was Daisy who was twenty-one but he was no where near fond of her as Tally.

Miss Stevens. He corrected.

"I'm sorry we didn't get off on the right start."

"No. I'm really sorry. I try to stay out of everyone's way. I don't want to get in trouble with Mr. Carson again."

"You're not in trouble. Mr. Carson isn't really that rough. It's just how he sounds. All bark."

She would have been punished at Dean Park. He had left before his secret would be discovered. He was still in the clear. His life here so far had been far from fanciful, better than Dean Park by a landslide. One would think it would be if they had no experience. It wasn't all glitz and glammer. His Auntie was a real cheer around this place to prove it.

"It's me that's the big oaf. It hasn't been easier for me either." He told her.

"What do you mean?"

"All's I'm saying is, I want you to feel that you have a friend."

* * *

_**AN: This chapter is more of introduction of new characters, the next chapters will also build on the existing characters to get them where they need to be for this story. I had Anna and Bates already marry, none of the Vera/Sandal nonsense. My cannon for Bates is that he used to be a criminal, used to be a drunk and a thief, hence why his wife divorced him. So Anna is under quite a stigma for marrying a divorced man. But Lord Grantham and Lady Grantham are in his corner and keep him on, giving him a second chance. And of course just like in the show Thomas and O'Brien try to use Bates past of stealing by taking one of Lord Grantham's belonging, stashing it in his room. When that fails, (thwarted by Anna enlisting Mary's help to safely return it with no one's knowledge, try to accuse him of being a drunk by implying he's been stealing the liquor. Of course Thomas and O'Brien's plan unravels and Bates stays. All this takes place in 1914 before the war. Anna and Bates are about a year married by this point.**_


	3. Ethel: March-May 1917

The Downstairs was early to rise. Even while there was a war on, they were constantly reminded that they couldn't stop. Daisy seemed a little distracted from last night. She had gone up to see Mr. Crawley, to thank him for trying to keep William safe, it was the least he could have done. But he wouldn't or couldn't respond. He had just lied there in a blank state. She couldn't stop thinking about it or talking about it.

"It's because Lady Mary probably didn't want nothing to do with him." Daisy addressed the other servants as she tried to multitask. "Poor Mr. Crawley. He wouldn't be like that if she hadn't turned him away. Now he's going to get worse and he could die of a broken heart. Then she'll be sorry."

"He was the one who turned her away. No one is going to die." Miss Patmore said. "Enough with your fanciful romance tales and get back to work."

"I am working." Daisy said as she hastily scrubbed the dishes that seemed to keep staking up, and it wasn't even noon yet.

"It's always poor everyone else. It's never poor Ethel is it?" All heads turned in her direction.

"Your soldier dying isn't the same." Daisy told her. "Sneaking off, probably seeing someone else. You've forgotten him already."

"Daisy!" Miss Hughes said, scandalized.

"All I can say is I think it would be an insult to William if I fell in love with another man if he was barley cold in his grave."

"That's quite enough." The housekeeper was appalled, growing impatient.

"It's alright Miss Hughes. I'm used to taking the hint when I'm not wanted. If you'll excuse me, I have some letters to attend to." She turned to go to the servants quarters but turned back around, "he's most likely to die from infection than anything else. But I'm sure that won't happen since he's got the best possible care."

"How would you know all that?" Miss Patmore asked with surprise.

"I listen." With that Ethel made her way up the stairs. She had seen Lady Edith crying over it. She would have comforted her if it wasn't inappropriate, or such a hard emotion for her to display.

"Alright. The show is over." Miss Hughes said to the others. "All of you go back to your duties. All except for …"All the servants halted, standing to attention, "you Daisy." She patiently added.

The relieved servants went off to do their morning duties as Daisy looked down at the floor, feeling guilty.

"Can you tell me what's on your mind?"

"I can't help it if I miss William. I can't sleep from crying most nights. I don't know what to do with myself without him."

"We all miss him." Miss Hughes said. "And I know you targeted your anger at her because she's not the easiest person to get along with, but that is no excuse. I want you to apologize. No matter how unpleasant someone might seem, we don't know what they've been through."

"Alright, I'll apologize to Lady Mary."

Miss Hughes sighed. "I meant Ethel."

Daisy didn't find her in the library, which she was always schedule to tidy. If she searched all over and still couldn't find her, she would have no excuse to appologise.

_Well, I tried then._

Turning to leave, she suddenly stopped, thinking that she had heard crying, coming from the closet. It could be no one else but Ethel.

A few inches away, Ethel was re-reading the telegraph about her soldier. Daisy was about to turn away again. _No, I have to do the right thing. _Just before she could open the door, Ethel burst out.

"What are you lookin at? What do you want?"

"I'm really sorry for the way I acted Ethel."

"I got work to do." She shoved past the young girl and started with her delayed chores.

"Truly I am. I was just that I'm grieving and I projected my anger on to you. I knew it wasn't fair or right."

Ethel continued to dust as if she hadn't heard her.

"Miss Hughes wants to see you after your duties are done." With that Daisy bustled out of the room.

They didn't know her or what she'd been through. Ethel thought as she descended the stairs to the servants hall. To be on the verge of poverty or go hungry. She had been born to Irish immigrant parents. They had died of cholera when she was really young and had was taken in by her father's relatives that already lived in England. To have said they had treated her unfairly, would be an understatement. They had become successful and looked down on the lower class from once they had come. She was stuck with the worst of the chores and was stuck with taking care of the younger children. They didn't know the situation she got herself in. She was at least two months with child, she was sure of it.

"You know why I called you down here? It's about this morning. Daisy's behavior is not to be excused as much as yours..."

"Miss Hughes, I was thinking of handing in my notice."

"Miss Hughes asked her if it had to do anything with her and Daisy's disagreements.

"No, ma'am. I just think it's time I moved on from here to where I'm appreciated."

"Very well, then. I wish the best of luck to you."

Ethel returned to Downton, a few months later, desperate and four months pregnant, not knowing what to do. She turned to Miss Hughes.

"I've gotten myself into a situation."

But she was turned out. She found herself walking aimlessly. No one would want to hire a pregnant prostitute. It probably wasn't her soldiers baby, but there was a possibility. Having found herself destitute, unable to find a job, she had had no other choice.

She could take a bus, somewhere, anywhere but she did not know if she would have enough. The light in the window of one the houses drew her attention, recognising it as Crawley House. Mrs. Crawley is a nurse, she remembers. She'd know what to do.


	4. Mary: March 1917

They were moving Matthew from the London hospital to Downton. There would be another soldier that would be transferred along with him. Sybil and Doctor Clarkson brought the soldier in, his head bandaged. After they got him settled, it was time to bring Matthew in.

"How can I help?" She asked. She wanted to be by his side.

The doctor took her to the side, "Lady Mary, I'm afraid Mr. Crawley's condition might be distressing for you."

Her mind immediately pictured grievous injuries, missing limbs...She stopped herself, when she felt her younger sister brush her hand.

She's waited all this time. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I'm sure I can handle it. You need volunteers, right? I'm a volunteer."

As soon as she said the words Clarkson motioned toward the door. Two officers made their way in, bearing a stretcher. They were carrying him.

Clarkson cautioned them, "Gently. Gently."

Her breath almost caught at the sight of him. He wasn't awake, like the other man. His face had cuts and scratches, bruising under his eyes.

No matter how many times patients were often brought in and out of here, never had she imagined him being one of them. Her strong, unbreakable Matthew, looked as though he was made out of porcelain.

She could not describe what she was feeling.

"He's breathing at least." One of the officers said. "Hasn't been conscious since we had him."

"Cousin Matthew, can you hear me?"

"They have 'im shot up full of morphine." The other officer said. "He's gonna need it."

"Thank you." Sybil said. Their words barley registered to Mary, except for one.

_Breathing._ He was alive. But how dreadfully pale and close to death he looked. He would be fine. They said. She couldn't help but scan him over, to make sure all his limbs were there. All four present and accounted for. There didn't appear to be anything wrong. Then she noticed the tag tied to his pajamas. Scribbled in fine elegant scroll where the words,

_Possible spinal damage._ She said it out loud.

Her heart sunk in her chest, going all the way to her stomach. No they had to be wrong. A flash of memory of him walking, riding that bicycle of his, which he had a queer opposition about, keeping it when he had first come here, a staple of his freedom. What if he couldn't do either of those things again?

_He's here. He's here alive. That's all that matters now._

"It could mean anything." Sybil said, hurriedly adjusting the pillows and linens to distract herself. "I think he needs a wash to prevent the risk of infection."

"What do we need to do first?"

"First thing, we'd cut the clothes they had traveled in but that's already been done and they already washed most of the blood and dirt. We'll disinfect the area first and then wash the rest off with hot water." The disinfectant in the open wounds would be excruciating if he hadn't been on morphine, or in some cases it wore off. And she didn't know how well her sister could handle the sight of blood, no matter the quantity. "This part can tend to be a bit grim."

"How hot does it need to be?"

Sybil smiled, respecting her sister's will not to back down. "Warm more than hot." He didn't wake up as she cleaned his wounds.

Mary cleaned the away the rest of the dirt and grime that they had missed. She was memorized as she washed him. When she thought about touching him, she had never imagined it like this.

* * *

He didn't feel pain. Come to think of it he could feel nothing at all. Was he dead?

No. He couldn't be.

His mind was fuzzy. He did, as it happens did feel something. He felt like he was floating.

He could hear her calling his name. He was lying on the ground, in the garden at Downton, not on the grass less landscape of the battlefield. He almost panicked till she saw her face. Mary was hovering over him. Her beautiful face.

This must be a dream.

He did not want to wake up. He did not want to wake up back there. I can't go through all that again. Go through what? What had happened to him? He couldn't remember. All that mattered was that she was here. He prayed that she really was. And that his mind hadn't conjured her up.

_Please, let this be real._

He struggled to open his eyes. At first it proved difficult. They felt heavy as if they were weighed down. He could sense her presence. She was close by. This had to be real.

Finally he managed to open them half way.

He could make out a blurry outline of a figure but he could tell that it was her.

"My darling." His own voice he didn't recognise. It was filled with unbounded joy but it sounded far away, slurred. He felt drowsy and found it hard to keep his eyes open. Before he closed them, he took in his surroundings.

They didn't look familiar. It wasn't a field hospital. He was in doors. And it wasn't a hospital in France. She wouldn't be here. He must be at Downton. But what was he doing here? Was he injured? He didn't feel any pain. He felt like he was floating. How had he gotten here? Where was William? Before he could panic, she grabbed his hand. He squeezed it back, albeit weakly.

_I don't want to wake up from this. Please don't let me fall asleep and wake up._

She then gripped his hand tightly as if to let him know. That he was here. That this was real. He decided that she was. All that mattered now was that she was here.

Everything went dark again.

When he came round, he found that the drowsiness was almost gone but not by much. He was still a little hazy. But he was aware what was happening, even if it was a dream.

There were people surrounding him, his mind still in a fog. He didn't know if this was even real. Their hands touched his back, asking if he could feel, in some parts he couldn't.

"No." He managed to get out.

"Nothing at all." It sounded like Clarkson. He was talking to someone.

He was so tired.

"Sleep now, Captain. You earned it." An unfamiliar voice.

He felt himself drifting off.

The third time he awakened, she was there. He had hoped she would be. It was as if his thoughts had summoned her.

"Are you feeling a little less groggy?" She asked, smiling at him warmly. He didn't speak or couldn't. Was he even fully awake? Surely the morphine should have worn off by now.

His mind slowly processed her words. It was hard to think and he didn't know where he was at first. Then it all came back to him.

A shell had exploded near him and William. Then blackness. He recalled going in and out of consciousness, hands on his back, asking if he could feel. Feel what?

He couldn't feel. Why couldn't he feel? Well his upper body. It felt a bit chilled. Maybe he's still lying in the cold, wet trenches...

_No._

He had thought he'd been lying in the warm sunshine, Mary hovering over him. Like she was now. He tried to think of what was wrong with him.

If this was a dream, he had to get back to William. To be sure he had to ask.

"How's William?" His voice was still slurred from the effects of the morphine. It was an effort for him to speak.

Mary waited patiently as he struggled to speak. It sounded like he was calling out for William.

Mary swallowed. Did he still think he was back there? She was about to correct him, tell him that he was here, safe. But would he be able to understand her?

Then finally, with more clarity, albeit still a little slurred and drowsy, "How's William?"

Mary hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should tell him.

"I know he tried to save me." He still couldn't remember it, all of it at least. They had been under heavy shelling. He had heard someone say how William had dove in front of him.

"Not good I'm afraid."

"Any sign of mother?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure she's making her way back by now."

"There seems to be something funny about my legs. I can't seem to feel them or move them. Did Dr. Clarkson say what that could be?"

He looked up at her. She was smiling, trying to be brave, trying to avoid the truth. "Why don't we wait for your mother, then we can all talk about it."

"Tell me."

"You haven't been here nearly twenty-four hours. Nothing would have settled yet."

"Please, tell me."

"Doctor Clarkson says...you might have damage to your spine."

"How long did he say it will take to repair?" He wanted to sound hopeful, but there was doubt in his voice, at the same time longing, that he would wake up from this nightmare. But he had to be ready to face the reality. But he wasn't.

"We can't expect to put timing on this sort of thing. The first thing is to focus on is regaining your health."

His eyes wondered to the ceiling, the worst of his thoughts confirmed. A part of him refused to believe it, that this couldn't be his life now, that this was all some dream. "I see." His eyes drift to the ceiling. He knows what is coming, but does not want to believe it.

"He says there's no reason you won't be able to live a full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one." He said, bitterly.

"We'll wait for your mother. Then we can start to make plans."

"Thanks for telling me. I know I'm blubbing, but I'd much rather much know."

"Oh, darling, blub all you like. You would like me to get you some tea? I know I would." She walked away, glad he couldn't see her face, and let the tears flow.

* * *

He lets himself feel nothing. After he breaks down, as his mother held him. Crying for his death. Because that's what it feels like. Like he had died.

He has to let Mary go. He could never be that man again. "Think of me as dead." He tells her.

He blocks out what is going on around him, what is being said. He knows he's being talked to but he says nothing. Then days and nights slip into each other.

He thinks about taking his life, only once. Someone had carelessly left a letter opener on his nightstand. He didn't need to use his legs to reach it.

But he can't.

He hears her voice pulling him back. He vaguely remembers her reading to him.

He couldn't do that to her, to his mother. It would be a cowards way out. It would do William no favors. It would be an insult to his memory. His sacrifice would have been for nothing.

He was Matthew Crawley. He always found a way to adapt.


	5. Tally: 1917

It was coming up on Tally's first year at Downton. She still wasn't used to some of the servants being mean to her, mainly Thomas. Today she was hiding from Miss Patmore after she had yelled at her, finding solace in the library. She had found a book and started reading. When she heard voices, she hide her small frame, further behind the depths of furniture.

Lord Grantham, and a middle aged woman with amber hair had entered. He called her Rosamund, t_hat had to be the aunt. _Mr. Matthew Rosamund complimented how drab the room was, that it should be remodeled, for the soldiers, starting with the wood.

Mr. Matthew commented, "that's how it's supposed to be. It's a man's sanctuary and a good place to hide and loose yourself in." His gaze went to the corner she was in. He was looking directly at her. He'd seen her. He was going to them. _Now I'm done in._ But then he gave her a smile, like this was their secret, she smiled back.

Then her face flushed. She knew she was acting like a child. Because she was. She had lied about her age. She wasn't sixteen when she started. She had been fourteen. The requirement age to work at Downton was sixteen, but she had really needed the work.

"The soldiers don't come up here. This is our own private library." Robert said, as the two retreated. Matthew stayed behind.

"You can come on out now." He said to her.

She stood up from her hiding place, brushing herself off. She wasn't afraid of him, realizing that she didn't need to be.

"What's that you got there?" He eyed the book that was almost slipping out of her apron.

"I don't want Thomas or O'Brien to think I was snitching, I was going to put it back."

"You like to read?"

She was so glad that he didn't ask her if she could, not judging her. She was lucky enough that he was even talking to her. "My mam taught me." She said with excitement, then she thought about the memories of her. They still made her sad, "before she died. Then I had to go the grubber."

"The workhouses?" He had heard nightmarish tales about those places from his mother who used to visit them. That was just the conditions. No one ever talked about what went on behind the closed doors. Just like they wouldn't talk about the war. He went silent for a moment. He wouldn't ask her about it, "Tell you what, I have a better one for you."

He didn't hand her a book of fairy tales like she expected. Often she was treated like a child because of her small frame and girlish looks and soft spoken voice. (She hadn't always been. Years of the experiences under the cruel master and workers, children her own age, not just the adults, had stayed with her. More real to her than the memories of her mother.) She looked younger for her age, she could pass for thirteen, fourteen at the most. Never had she been treated like an equal. She'd come to see him as a father figure, she never had one of those, that she could remember, and a close friend.

She'd bring trays up to him, when Ethel wasn't. Ethel was a force to be reckoned with, she got Mr. Matthew to do his exercises, even though he thought it pointless. The nurse that they had hired, Nurse Crane, could only stay for a month. She had confidence in Ethel that she could get him to do them, _you're much prettier than me, lass_. And she had showed Lady Mary to do them as well. Tally would clean the room or start the fire for him while they did them.

He looked so maudlin after Lady Mary had been to see him. Tally thought he'd be happy. Most days he seemed more please to see her. They, most of the downstairs, were not pleased to have Ethel spend much time with Mr. Matthew, that she was 'ruined' and they were not aloud to talk to her. Lady Grantham had allowed her to stay, after Mrs. Isobel requested her help, and had put the downstairs in order, that it was her house. That had been when Ethel had been pregnant. It had been no secret. But she had lost the child just a few weeks past, December of 1917. Mr. Matthew had only been home for six months. Maybe helping Mr. Matthew, attending to him as his sick maid, was helping her.

_December, Christmas Eve, 1917_

He heard her telling stories, to the servants. Ghost stories and Irish folklore, about the solstice and how the veil between the living and the dead became thinner. He asked her about it.

"My family told them for generations, sir. They're just that, stories."

"I hope so. I wouldn't want to know what they think of me."

His fallen soldier friends. "I think they'd say you were mighty brave, sir. Just as they all were."

He gave a sideways smile, half doubting.

Later that night he was sitting up in his chair before bedtime. He hadn't come down for the festivities with the rest of the house. Bates would soon come up and help him get him ready for bed. It was Tally's turn to stoke the fire before he turned in, Daisy and her would often take turns.

She could tell he had fallen asleep. She didn't want to wake him just yet, so she turned to the fire, grabbing the poker. It made a noise when she withdrew it from the holder, which fell down with a clatter.

He was startled awake by the sound.

"Sorry, Mr. Crawley. I didn't mean to startle you. Mr. Bates should be up in a moment." She got up to go over to him.

By the light of the fire, she saw that his eyes were open. They had a glazed over look to them, almost glassy. She was alarmed at first before she realized what was happening, when he suddenly shouted,

"No! I couldn't save you!" His eyes were now staring straight at Tally but it wasn't really her he was seeing. He wasn't fully awake yet, still caught in a dream. She could only wait till he came out of it. Maybe if she spoke to him. This was her fault after all, talking about dead spirits.

Then slowly he began to stir, the upper part of his body that he could move. She didn't feel sad or sorry for him, she felt angry, that many great men like him would bear the price of their sacrifice for the rest of their lives.

His slight movement didn't mean he was fully awake yet. She had to try.

"You had a night terror. I get those sometimes too." She had for years. Her only friend at the workhouse who would comfort her when she had hers was dead. They hadn't been allowed to make friends, as disease and illness ran rampant. Jaime had fallen ill, partially because they worked him to death, she thought. He had always been frail. She remembered crawling in his bed one night, both of them curled up from the cold. Then one morning she had opened her eyes to see his lifeless ones staring back at her. She would never forget it. That was five years ago. More clear than the memory of her mother though she remembers that the same illness had taken her.

She wanted to do the same thing for him but it would be inappropriate, even taking his hand in hers. She just stood where she was, waiting for him to come around.

He finally did, after a few seconds. He just sat, silently, his breathing starting to ease. He just stared at her, till he could find his voice. "What...?" He looked dreadfully confused.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Bates voice, announcing himself.

* * *

Tally had told Daniel about Mr. Matthew's nightmare. It wasn't just that, that worried him, it was how she described it. He told her she needed to be careful who she told these things to.

"I won't tell anyone else about it. I can only trust you. I'm not sure I can even trust Anna about it."

""My dad used to have them." Daniel said to her. It wasn't what he told just anyone. It was strange that this young girl had that type of hold one him.

"I had them to. Not knowing where I were, thinking he's still chasing me."

"Who was chasing you?"

"No one."

Daniel shrugged it off. It wasn't his place to ask. Thomas Burrow hadn't made his life at Downton any simpler either. He felt he had to compete. Auntie had to step in a few times. He hadn't seen her in years not since dad died. He debated about weather or not about telling her about Mr. Crawley's nightmares. He didn't know if he could trust her. But his father had been her brother. By the sounds of it, his father had been way worse perhaps he could manage on his own. He had stood up for him, along with Lord Grantham when those ladies had been handing out feathers. Now he would never stand. Many men lost their lives, damaged them. He'd seen what it had done to the father in the Boers. He'd rather be a conscientious but now with Mr. Crawley's injury, it made him feel guilty. Did the chauffeur feel the same? Branson talked about his thoughts about it. He shared his reason.

"I have a heart murmur. Still even if I wanted to...it's all rather pointless, let alone fighting another countries war. What about you?"

"Daniel was hesitant to answer. "I saw what it did to many great men." Branson nodded and Daniel left it at that.


	6. Matthew: 1917

They had made up a sick room for him for some privacy, which he thought was a joke. They had brought a bed into the sitting room, next to the fireplace. He was thankful for the privacy. He didn't want too many visitors. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, apart from Mary. With her constant insisting he couldn't refuse her.

"I don't know what I was thinking, going back to work in Manchester." He said to Mary from where he lay on the bed. He couldn't tell if it was uncomfortable or not. "I wasn't ready. I don't think I'll ever be."

"Course you will."

"How will I be able to support you? What sort of job would...who would hire me?"

"Matthew, you're crippled in body, not in your mind." She saw him flinch. "I didn't mean how it sounds. When I look at you, you're not crippled to me." She had come to terms, well not completely, but she could see past his wheelchair.

"Then you are blind."

She sighed. "You still have your intelligence, your mind. Use it Matthew. Think of the things that you can do."

"What? You think I could be a lawyer again? I've been out of practice for years." He had turned in his resignation to join the army, right at the start of the war, believing it would be there for him upon his return. He hadn't thought that the war would last for years. But who would want him back now? And there was the time consuming effort. He wasn't as young as he was. _There's been a lot of new laws. I'd have to relearn it all, retake the exams. It could take years._

"I'm sure Papa could pull some strings."

"I already have people I have to rely on. He's an awfully busy man. I won't burden him with my problems. He can find someone else to be heir."

"There is no one else!" She raised her voice. How could he be so demeaning and hard on himself? She was the one looking for a silver lining in all of this when it was usually him in situations. It was like they had reversed roles. She didn't plan on getting used to it, his new out look on everything, it had to be temporary.

"How can I just go back to that? No one would want to hire a crippled lawyer." It would hinder their confidence, that's what being in a wheelchair did. "What kind of Earl..." He began but couldn't finish. He was letting Robert down, all the expectations of him, dashed. _What an utter disappointment you are._ But it wasn't his voice he heard in his head. _You were saved for this?_

"Papa does a lot of paper work. He sits behind a desk most of the time."

"Your father has a presence that's required." Public relations were important. He couldn't go out in public like this.

"And so do you!" She said with enthusiasm. That hadn't gone away. He was still himself, albeit cranky and moody half the time. His periods of irritation and frustration and anger were masking his self pity and hatred. She wouldn't let him do that, not if she could help it. At times she didn't understand it, he was always kind and humble and put others before himself, never thinking of himself. Now that was all he seemed to think about, what he had lost, his independence, his freedom. She thought that was selfish of him. Why couldn't he see that he was more fortunate than others, being surrounded by the people that loved him? He still had a future. There was no knowing what that would look like now. No one knew what their future would look like under normal circumstances. She wanted to make this as normal as possible even though it would never be. At least he had a future, a life. Thanks to William. Not one they had pictured but it was a life. She feared to admit to him that for a second, when he had been in that cationic state, she had wondered if it had been better off if he had died. She couldn't admit that to him. She was sure he must have thought that a dozen times. She can't skim over that fact as if it wasn't in the realm of possibility. She would convince him time and time again through her actions that he was needed and loved.

"I couldn't visit properties or the tenant farms, with the rough terrain."

"Tom and I can take of that bit until we can maneuver around things. When you get stronger. Things will change."

_Nothing will change._ "It's bad enough being..." Just being was exhausting. At times he wished he didn't have his mind like this. "Having people do things that you normally would...holding doors open for you, looking down at you with pity."_ and disgust._ "Or having them just look at you, not knowing what to say."

"Who does that?"

"Your mother for one."

"She'll have to get used to it. I'll have a word with her."

"No, you won't." He paused for a moment. "I'm concerned about how my mother is taking it. I think she's more worried about it than I am. You know when you think you've failed your parents and you know it will worry them more than it does you?"

"Yes. I know the feeling." She had been more terrified of what her papa would have thought than the whole world, and now what Matthew would think. He didn't know about Pamuk, she reminded herself, mentally kicking herself. But he was too deep in his thoughts to question

"I wasn't always so black and white. I was quite rebellious."

"You, a city born solicitor, I wouldn't have ever guessed!" She teased and at the same time surprised. She had always imagined him clean cut and proper, even as a little boy. "Your parents wanted you to be a doctor that's what made you take interest in becoming a lawyer."

"It was mother more than my father that wanted me to become a doctor, I think. But no, I wasn't always interested in law."

Her eyebrows now raised with intrigue. After five years of knowing him, there was something new to learn. Her face was half obscured by her tea cup, that he could only see the the top half of her face, her eyebrows and her eyes. The action made him smile. She was glad that he was smiling.

"My father taught me to question everything." He continued. "My way of doing that was to defy them. When he died, I was away at school, Cambridge." His mouth dropped into a frown. As did hers, but it was hidden behind her cup. She slowly lowered it. He never spoke of his father. All that she knew was how great a man he was and his great service as a doctor in the Boer War, from Isbobel, and that he had died in 1906. Though she never went into specifics. Matthew would have been twenty-one. Still a young enough man to still need his father. "I got the telegram on the way home, on the train." _My only regret was not coming to see him when he was sick and not being able to say goodbye._ He left that bit out. He didn't want this to be any more depressing. "When he died I felt...it was like a boat that lost it's anchor. You need someone to pull you back, to listen. He was my reasoning. Now, you are." He took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She was deeply touched by his words. She wanted to take in his face, to read the expression in his eyes but once again he wasn't looking at her. "He would pray everyday." He stopped, as if he didn't know where to take the conversation next. After the South African war, he had taken to drink. He was out of work. He was struggling, we all were. One night a crash had woken me up. As I came downstairs I saw him kneeling on the floor, shattered glass across the kitchen floor. He had thrown the bottle across the room in an angry rage. He was uttering under his breath, a bible in his hand. The bible I'd taken with me to battle. The look on his face when he had seen me, he had just crumpled to the floor. I held my father as he broke down, a man I never saw let his strength waver, and I prayed with him. "I'm not angry at God." He said after a short silence. _He didn't do this to me. I've done it to myself, somehow._

"I'm surprised that you can still believe in Him." Mary said.

"So am I. Do you still..."

"Believe?" She shrugged, holding her cup in both hands. The tea had gone cold. She felt a slight chill. "That's a hard question. But I do still pray. Only in times of great need or in desperate times."

""That's not how it works." He couldn't help but laugh slightly.

"Then perhaps I don't." Matthew Crawley was clearly a man of God. It reminded her of her fall from grace. She didn't deserve him, even now. She wasn't even worthy of a man confined to a wheelchair. _How pathetic of myself to think that_. But he needed her, to get better, to accept that he needed to go on, this new life. How much she still loved him. She didn't know herself without him. She knew he felt the same. His trying to keep her at arms length, he was trying to shield her.

There was a knock on the door. His mother wanted to see him.

"Have you been doing your exercises?" She asked him.

"Yes, mother. Ethel has been very insistent." He tried not to sound annoyed. He knew that she was going to pick over him like a mother hen. She had more time for him now. He had looked after her after father had died, now would she look after him for the rest of her life? After he was gone, who would take care of him? Who would want to? He suppose they could hire a nurse. That was when he got stronger and could be moved to Crawley House. Moved. Like he was a piece of furniture. That's certainly how Cora made him feel.

"That's good." She talks to him as if he hadn't been injured as if he was still her son. He wasn't the man who had left in 1914. He didn't know who he was.

_What a strange breed we are. The wounded._

She went over to open up the blinds. The sun was bright, over the clouds. "It's a nice day out. How about we get you into that wheelchair and we can go out."

"I don't want to go out today." He looked out the window, just gazing, not really looking at anything.

"You'll feel much better if you accept it."

"I'm trying."

"Not hard enough apparently. But the only way you will listen is if you're being bullied. You can't be coddled. That's a part of your stubbornness. I know because you got that from me."

"And Ethel has been going a very good job of it." He smiled. Suddenly his face fell, his eyes darkened. "I wonder what it was all for. If it was all worth it, all the suffering." _For some of us it will never end. William and others like him were at peace_. He supposed that he did have it better than most. Some had no limbs at all. He had seen. He had seen the many ways the body could be mutilated. And those who had come home horribly disfigured.

Lucky in that way, indeed. The out come he had to deal with, maybe not so lucky. His body was whole but his mind? He felt like this wasn't his life at times. That this was a dream. That he'd wake up back in the trenches. He sometimes rather preferred it to this. His mind switching between realities. Back there seemed more real. Downton was the dream.

He wasn't just trapped in his body. He could hear their screams, see their faces. They were dying and he was here. He would always be haunted by the things he'd seen. There were far worse things than the psychical injury. It was the battle with in your mind, where war still raged. Yes, it was still going on in the real world but he wondered if that feeling would end when it actually ended. He couldn't share this frightening new feeling with his mother. It effected everyone in it's path, not just soldiers. No one could get out unscathed. They would pretend when it was over, that it didn't happen, though they would all carry the scars and disfigurements and missing limbs, in his case, nonworking limbs. When ever he thought about it, it made him feel sick to his stomach. One time he actually threw up when he told Mary he didn't even want to be with himself. Had it been the affect of the morphine. It had given him a terrible headache and headaches could do that. He hated feeling like this, this self pity, this dark pit of hatred, he wanted to climb into and give into the bitterness. And when he wasn't irritable and frustrated, he was an emotional wreck. What had William saved? He sacrificed his life for this? This broken, leaden lump of flesh below his waist. He was a burden, useless. He knows William would not want him to think like this but he can't help it. He had no control over his feelings as he had everything else. He had to get on with his life. What ever life that would be. He owed it to the young lad. He had to fight for it, to make his sacrifice worth it, for all his men he had lost. He had not learned of their fate. No one knew yet or they didn't want him to know? Did they think it would break him? He was already broken.

"I used to wonder if it'd be better if I'd died." He saw the worried look she was trying to hide. "I don't think that now. But now I wonder if there was some sin I must have done to deserve this."

"You did nothing wrong, Matthew."

"What?" He asked, snappishly. "I did what I had to do? To survive? That I'm a hero? I'm not that. William's the hero." He turned his head away for a moment, then shook it. "I've killed." The word was poison on his tongue. William hadn't taken a life, that he knew of. It was the way he had killed. _They can glorify it all they want, murder was murder._

Those six weeks when they had been determined missing, he and his men had looted bodies to stay hydrated and alert, stripped the meat off dead horses. He had done it with no qualms, had given the order. He had felt nothing. And that wasn't even the worst. He had felt nothing every time he pulled his trigger, even while his men were being shot and blown up beside him. You have to cut off your feelings, to survive. Now that he was back here, it felt so wrong to feel now.  
_No one is equal till they're dead._ That line he had read in Hugo's Les Miserable, something along there, he had never found it more true till now.

"I know that you're not under the illusion that I didn't... but you can't picture it." He said to his mother. "What I've done. What horrible things..." He swallowed, choking on his words. _They would pray and death wouldn't come. They would beg me and I couldn't. He begged me, the boy I killed, he didn't want to die but it was too late. He was just a boy._ He hadn't known that till it was too late. He had seen him draw his gun. When he had fallen, it was then he realised, he had not been reaching for his gun after all. His canteen, that rattled with emptiness, exactly how he had felt in that moment. Asking for water or surrender? He must have been lost, separated from his regiment, wondering for days, crumpled with exhaustion. Only it wasn't just that. He had shot him.  
The boy spoke in soft German, looking up at him with pleading eyes. The rattling in his breath started. In shock of what he had done Matthew slid down the wall of the building. He sat next to the boy, waiting. He'd wait with him. No one should die alone. Then the young lad did reach for his gun this time. They fought over it. It wasn't a long struggle. He was too weak and was no match for Matthew. Still it had been an awfully close call. The gun fired and the young German soldier slumped over on the ground, where blood pooled. It had stopped before it had reached him. The one time he had let himself feel, the one time an act of kindness had almost gotten him killed. He had learned later that the boy had been a decoy. It still made no difference to him.

He didn't know how long he had sat there.

"Jesus, Crawley." It was Levine, Fergus, another foul mouth Irishman. He never had heard such language spoken outside of the war. He had never heard Tom talk like that. It had to be an army thing. All things forbidden became not forbidden. Levine often joked how the Frauleins were Verboten and what he would like to do with the whores. He was all talk. It made Matthew blush and they teased him about it and offered to pay for one for him. He had refused of course. He'd hang around Thomas after that, and took tea with him late at night. They wouldn't really talk about much. And that he was thankful. He hadn't seen Thomas in a while. Most likely he'd been transferred somewhere else. It seemed everything had been going off the rails since he left.

Levine's voice had sounded like he was talking through a tube as he spoke to him. "Let's get you out of here. There could be more coming. We're outnumbered. They'll be blowing us all too shit."

He hadn't remembered much after that. Parts of the conversation were missing. Those seemed to be his last words, he couldn't recall. Levine was literally 'blown to shit." as he had called it. It had been night and they were being shelled. He was no stranger to the damage they caused. Men blown to bits, unrecognisable pieces. You were there and the next moment you could be wiped from existence. One moment he'd been standing not that far from him, the next, all that was left was a hole in the ground. One man had been talking about shoes, next to him. He had the man's blood on him for days. All that was left. He remembered having to shake out his shirt, where there were pieces of him. It was when he saw that it was brain matter, that he had vomited.

That he couldn't forget, among other things. Some things were still jumbled, one death blurred into another. Death was all the same. Perhaps that had been Levine talking to him about shoes. Those two deaths could be one in the same. He couldn't recall. There were things that he could.

A shell had ripped off an arm and a leg of one of his friends, like the wings off a fly. It took some time to die. He stayed with him in the end and all he felt when it was over, was relief. No grief. No tears. There was no time for that here. When he could finally change into a fresh uniform, he felt the same relief he had felt for Edwards and he was ashamed of it.

Those deaths stayed with him the most. The boy's life he had taken, his face, he'd never forget.

She saw the frightened look in her son's eyes, yet they looked so far away, distant. It lasted several seconds.

"I've done horrible..." He continued as if there hadn't been a lapse in time. She didn't mention it. She didn't want him to worry when she couldn't be sure. He was struggling not to think of those things, the things he couldn't say. With her being a nurse and his father having been a doctor, having saved lives, inflicting any pain on anyone must weigh heavy on his conscience. And the things he'd seen and done, no one should have to see or do. Some could not handle or cope with it as well as others. That wasn't her Matthew. He could cope, he could get through this, if he allowed it. He stopped, his eyes stinging with hot tears. He closed them briefly, willing them not to fall.

"horrible things." He was finally able to choke out. "And I'm being punished." He sounded like a little boy again.

"No!" Isobel shook her head. "That shell wasn't meant for anyone. Anyone could have come across it's path. That is war. It's unpredictable. It is in no way your fault. And don't you think any of it is." He gave her an agitated look. "You're here and you're alive. That's all I ever prayed for. I want to take care of you." She had never gotten the chance when he was younger.

"Since when do you pray? I thought you didn't believe in God."

"I never said that. He brought you back to me, didn't he?" He smiled again before she continued, "This isn't the end of your life. We just have to find a way. You have people who care about you, who will help you. You just have to let them."

"I think I am starting to accept it. I just need more time. I have a lot of that now." His spirits sounded genuinely raised.

It didn't last. He and Mary were soon arguing again.

"If I had been more persistent with you, not taking no for answer, we would have been married by now." He said.

"You would not have done something like that. That's not like you."

"If we were married, we'd have had a least a few children by now, perhaps even a son. But we were too busy dragging our feet, dancing around our feelings." He said it with a kind of morbid humour. Dragging was all he could do with his legs, a dead weight, he had to drag and move around into position. Dancing, he would never do again. He would never be able to do that with her, feel the warmness of her cheek against his, her breath on his neck, her head on his chest.

If only they hadn't waited till the end of the war. They had written several letters to each other. When he had been on leave last summer in 1916, he had invited her up to London. She had brought Anna of course, to deflect attention, using the excuse that she was going there to shop. Only Anna knew the truth that she was going to see him and that she was to be their chaperone. They managed to give her the slip so they could have lunch on the terrace of his hotel room. It was there he had proposed to her. They had agreed to wait till the war was over. How foolish they had been. They should have eloped right then and there. Soon after that he had gone missing. He could have given her at least one child before there, in case if anything happened to him, she would have a part of him.

"I've told you that side of things doesn't matter."

"But it will someday. Don't you see. I know how much you want my children. How I want yours. I can try to rebuild my life, go back to what I'm good at, being a solicitor and help running of the estate. That's all I'm good for."

"You're more than that."

"Don't you see, Mary. I'm not Perseus. You were right. I am the sea monster." He was trapped in his own body, his mind, this damn wheelchair.

"No." She sat down on the bed next to him. "You're not." She put a hand to his face. She could feel the beginnings of rough stubble. "How can you think that I could ever hate you."

"Because I do. I hate myself." He gasped in shaky breaths, to keep himself from giving into the tears. "I'm so sorry. Here I am, blubbering again, when I have a beautiful woman beside me. I don't know how lucky I am. How incredibly selfish of me. They both couldn't help but laugh.

He was in better moods in the months that followed. He could find a way to live. Mary smiled brightly. He was still shielding her though. It was like he was two different people. There was a secret side of him that he wouldn't let her see. He'd offer to bring him his tray but he preferred Tally to do it. She had called him on it.

"It's like you're two different people."

"Because I am." He was trying to be the man he is now and the man that he was.

"You're kind and generous as you ever were. But there's another part of you that's secret, that no one is supposed to know or God forbid question."

"You don't know...'

"No. I don't. Perhaps I never did at all."

* * *

_I need to accept my condition. In order to do that, first things first, I need to make a list._

**Step 1: Admit you're disabled and find someone to listen**  
_I am disabled._

_There, I said it, but what does it mean? Disabled is a generalization. It seems less harsh than cripple or invalid. Does it mean I am incapable of doing anything? I don't think so. I feel that am very capable, I just have parts of my body that doesn't work correctly. Facing the reality is daunting but I can find other things to live for. The people I surround myself with can help me, at least those of my choosing and are willing_.

_I never really liked Ethel but she gets the job done, when I'm being stubborn. Reminding me when I should turn over in the bed or when to do my exercises. I need to be persistent if I want to become stronger. This I heard from many people, manly mother. We've come to a certain understanding, Ethel and I, though sometimes we still don't get along. Mary teased she was sweet on me, and looked forward to help. Ethel was not in a joking mood. She never was. She had lost so much as well. Losing her soldier and then her child. She wanted to be useful, I could tell. We've been given a second chance. She says. The question is, if I believe her. I'm not quite so sure._

_I need someone to just listen. Someone I can talk to things about I can't say to Mary or mother. People I know I can trust. What I needed was someone to listen to me on my own terms. I needed to talk everything through: how I would manage the pain, how I would hold down a job, how I would remain active. This is where step 2 comes in._

_**Step 2: Mourn the thing I can no longer do**_

_This is a tough, but also a necessary step. I need to accept the reality that there are things I cannot do any more at all and things that I can no longer do the way I once did them. Instead of dwelling on what I can no longer do, I have to mourn the losses and focus on what I can. I also need to focus on different ways of doing things._

_Don't dwell on what you can no longer do; it will prevent you from moving forward. Focus on what you can do and find ways to do new things. These things I can talk about, what I can and can't do, managing the pain, my physical pain at least._

_Simple things I can tell Mary and Mother. I think I got most of those worked out. Yes, I still feel pain, in my upper back, where I can feel. It's debilitating at times. I don't want to take pills because I don't like how it makes my head feel. I want my head clear. Never thought I'd hear myself think a lot of the time I still prefer the company of Ethel. I still have my dark spirals but they're not as frequent and don't want anyone else to see. Ethel take the brunt of them. As much as I like Ethel's company, (thankfully she doesn't talk too much) I like Tally's as well, maybe even more so. Tally, she was a sweet girl. I loaned a book to her on Christmas Eve. She claims I had a nightmare but I don't recall._

**Step 3**: **DON'T LET THEM DEFINE WHO YOU ARE.**

It's pretty straight forward

**Step 4: Look for people who can inspire you**  
Don't need to look far. No need to talk to them. Just being around others wounded like me will get me in the right mindset to move forward.

Step 5: EXERCISE REGULARLY  
_I need help working out new exercises._

_This list is so very lawyer like._

_Writing that, I find myself smiling and give a small breath that is a laugh before I can start to feel it slipping._

_Not every day will be a happy day. There will still be sad days. If I allow myself to be, away from everyone, it won't come off as misplaced anger at misplaced times. I shudder to think about how I had misplaced it when we had all gathered in the drawing room, when I broke the news about Patrick. Some of which that anger had been deliberate. I won't ever purposely misplace my anger at anyone again. It's towards myself not them. They had been so helpful, in this long recovery, striving forward to whatever recovery I can achieve._  
_I appreciate the help but I am growing anxious to get back to work. It's been eight months since my injury. January, 1918 and still no end of the war in sight. I can work from the Abbey. I don't need to go out. It was still a challenge to get ready in the mornings and evenings. I got a handle on maneuvering in and out of bed to my chair but still needed to from chair to the bed. I don't have any qualms about Molesley or Bates dressing me, because they're Mosley and Bates. Molesley looked far too cheerful. He was glad he had more to do with his job. I had heard of Anna's concerns, well 'her complains' to Bates that it was too much work on him. Bates had joked about it with me. It was difficult the first time with the bath, not because of my embarrassment and shame of my own body. It was a harder task to do for the older men. Thomas was suggested._

_"No!" I had angrily refused._

_What reason would I have to be angry at the man?_

_They had eventually gotten Daniel. I never really meant the chap till now. I didn't know if I could trust him. He was O'Brien's nephew. But I shouldn't base it on that. He was an intelligent young man, willing to help anywhere he could. The first time I had unofficially met him, was at the concert last year, the woman's movement had been handing out the white feathers. They had given one to the new footman, William and Tom._

_I couldn't be mad at him for them. He and Tom had had the good sense to not get involved in the war, sparing both their lives. While William and I had been blindly convinced that it was for 'honor and glory and freedom. The first wave of nightmares I've haven't for months, had came back in full force that night. A man ran past, his back turned, through a barren, muddy landscape. Something about him looked familiar._

**AN: I ended it here, to show Matthew's distorted thoughts. It's still months away till November 1918, the armistice. Which I will probably cover. The announcement of it's end won't feel real to him at first. I didn't cover the part about Patrick as much, for reasons, (don't want to over rehash) and how it affected his and Mary's friendship briefly. He tries to never think about it. I'll have the readers determine, when that took place, when he went back to Crawley house with his mother for about a week. The writing seems distorted because it's intended, what certain events happened when. This is a man's trouble mind scarred by war, still picking up the pieces.**


	7. Daniel: November 1919

It was the anniversary of the armistice. The king had held a medal ceremony. Then the veterans, the survivors attended a memorial service in the village, the graves now marked by wooden crosses. Daniel knows this is what set it off. He observed him and Lady Mary from across the lawn of the graveyard. He saw Lady Mary muttering something to Mr. Crawley. He could tell even from here, that he was far off somewhere. She was tucking a grey blanket eagerly at his sides.

Afterwards Mr. Crawley and Lord Grantham retired to the drawing room, Daniel accompanied them, made temporarily butler, filling in for Carson.

Lord Grantham started to talk about the war treaties that were in place. "With the new treaties in place Germany isn't likely to start a war with Europe again." He was pouring himself a drink. When he turned he noticed the blank stare on his face.

Daniel had noticed it first. In his position he was utterly helpless.

"Matthew." Robert tried to get his attention. "Stand to attention soldier." He tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He was only teasing but Daniel knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"Lord Grantham, you really shouldn't have..."

Lord Grantham tried to get his attention again but he remained unresponsive. The Earl's voice filled with desperation and panic.

That wouldn't help to bring him back. Daniel knew from first hand that you should remain calm in these situations.

Then suddenly, "No. I can't...I can't go back..."

"You're not going to go back." Robert reached out to him again but he jerked his hand away from Robert, his whole body began to tremble.

"I saw them. The soldiers, they want me to go back."

_His mind in stuck in a loop,_ Daniel though dreadfully, mixed _up with the events he saw today, the veterans and soldiers in their uniforms earlier at the service._

"No. No one is going to make you. I'm not going to let them. You have nothing to worry about." Robert's now calming words had no effect. He didn't know how to help his cousin. Getting Isobel or Clarkson was out of the question. His eyes went to the only other person in the room. "How do we help him?"

They weren't specially directed at Daniel. But with that small plea, Daniel decided that he could no longer just stand by. "I'll go get Auntie." He dashed out of the room. He came back with her, at a normal pace, not to draw in unwanted prying eyes.

"We need to get him onto the floor so he doesn't fall out of his chair." O'Brien immediately took action. _Giving out commands, as she loves to do,_ Daniel thought cheerfully. But she wasn't loving any minute of this. "Put a pillow under his head."

Daniel took him under the arms and Lord Grantham took his legs. Daniel took a pillow from the sofa and put it under his head as Lord Grantham looked at O'Brien as if to question what to do next.

"What about blankets?" He asked, "Daniel..."

"No." O'Brien said sharply. "No blankets, you don't want him to feel restrained while he's not lashing out. All we can do is wait until it passes."

And wait was what they did.

"What...what happened?" Matthew was starting to come around.

"Fainted. Gave us all a bit of a freight." Lord Grantham was saying, smiling, not letting the distress show in his voice.

Daniel was not paying much attention. He could not take his eyes off of Mr. Crawley. He mechanically helped Lord Grantham get him back in his chair. He could do that on his own now but he was having difficulty. When they got him back into it, he was silent, staring far off.

"O'Brien, how did you know how to do that?" Lord Grantham asked in astonishment.

"My brother. He was never the same. They sent him back, thought it would get his mind right. He was killed..." She was not trying to show any emotion in the Lordships presence. Daniel had never seen her as much as bat an eyelash while he was here but he knew now, she was trying to keep all the memories from flooding back in. Her voice had almost cracked but she stood fast and firm, cold as stone.

Lord Grantham thanked her and Daniel.

"Not a word to anyone about this." He said. "Not even to Lady Mary." O'Brien leaves but Daniel remains at the Lordships request. He asks if Daniel could take Mr. Crawley to his room.

He doesn't remember most of that day. He handed the medal to Williams father. It was cruel not letting his father have it, his own family. He didn't deserve it. They stopped at Williams grave. Mary fiddling with that infernal blanket. It had become the baine of his existence, apart from the crutches. No those actually helped. It made things a bit easier.

Daniel helped him back to his room. That's all he remembers. He doesn't want to alarm Mary or his mother. He had had trouble concentrating. He found himself wondering what he had thought about through out the ceremony. His mind drew a blank. He'd been half there, half somewhere else, able to give off short few responses. He loved his and Mary's banters. He had wanted to smile. He could feel it start. He had covered it with his fist. How inappropriate it would have been. He didn't want to look like a lunatic. But he couldn't argue that fact that his mind had been somewhere else. He couldn't recall where. He had never been so scattered brained. He always remembered every minute of his day, well almost. If you remembered every detail you'd go insane. Had he gone blank to simply block out the memories of war, that he was sure had been about to flood in? Nothing was ever simple. There were still some details he couldn't recall about the war. What else is there? He recalled most of the worst of it. He had gone off somewhere. An escape. While they were saying things, nice things about the ones that would never come home.

Where had he been? Through all of that? Perhaps no where. In no mans land...

"Shell!" Someone yelled.

He was back there. William jumping in front of him.

"No. No. No. No." He could hear him self shout it, over the blasts. It was a chant over and over. He felt like he couldn't breath, like he was suffocating. Trapped in the trench, the boards had caved it over him. He had to get out. He had to get to William. He had to. But some force was preventing him. "William." His eyes snapped open. The name hung in the air as the walls of Downton entered his vision, his mind still in a fog but he was able to know, that he hadn't been back there. It had all been a dream. He slowly came to realise what the pressure was. What had been restraining him.

Someone was holding him, shushing him. He didn't know who it was. But it was a woman. She spoke to him. His mother? No. The voice belonged to someone younger. Tally? Ethel? A hand soothed back his hair as his body still shook. He held onto her and her grip held fast. He closed his eyes, not looking.

His breathing relaxed, not caring for the moment. He wasn't alone.


	8. MaryMatthew: 1919

If you asked Mary what color she thought suited Matthew, it was red. He looked more handsome in red. She recalled that red scarf he'd been wearing the first time she had met him. Red made his eyes impossibly brighter.

He had his army jacket, the red one, laid out on the bed. A symbol or ordinates, to provide an illusion that the war had been less horrible than it actually had been.

She saw that his hand was shaking as he ran it over the fabric.

"Do you want me to help with that?" Mary asked from the doorway, the sound of her voice he slightly jumped, stiffened, then relaxed.

"I can dress myself, you know. I'm not a complete invalid."

"You don't have to go to the dinner."

"Can you hand me my crutches? I need to maneuver myself onto the bed, it's easier to put on a shirt then sitting in the chair.

It took a moment for her to eye the crutches from across the room, next to the bed. He would need them for awhile, before he could move on to a stick. He could not stand for a lengthy period 's all he was able to do for now, used the crutches for leverage to stand or get in and out of bed. It must be dragging on for him for ages. She could tell he was so eager to start walking again, and ditch the crutches. It wasn't as simple as that. It was the reality. It was always something else, an obstacle they had to tackle. She feared he was becoming too confident in the independence he had regained. He would be able to walk again but it was still uncertain just how much. At this time they were in a sort of limbo, ,and he was trying to make his way out of it. He believed he'd get better, that's what they had told him, if he believed and accept. But was believing enough?

She was more than overjoyed at his improvement but at the same time felt a sense of loss, the dependency that he had needed. She helped him get the jacket on anyway. He didn't refuse her. He shrugged so that he could get his arms in to the shoulders.

They had given Williams medal to him. She saw him hand it to Mr Mason at the soldiers dinner, half way under the table, when he thought no one was looking.

She went to fetch him a blanket for the next bit. They'd be going to the cemetery. It had gotten chilly out. As she wheeled him over some loose cobblestones, the blanket around his legs had come loose.

He had barely said a word at all most of the night. She thought that conversing with the soldiers, there had been many in wheelchairs like him, young and old be good for him. She didn't see what he had to complain about. He was probably doing it mentally. His outward brooding was now silent so she wouldn't have to see it. Didn't he not know that she wasn't blind to it? She saw right through him. Sometimes. Sometimes he'd be far off. Like he was now.

No. Something wasn't right. This was different. _What do I do? I want to help him. How do I? Maybe if I talked to him?_

She spoke to him as she fiddled with the blanket.

"I don't need it." He said. He was back with her. Or had he always been, and was just staring off into space, wanting not to think, wanting be be anywhere else but here?

"It's cold out."

"I don't feel it. What's the point?"

"They still get cold."

He covered his mouth with his fist. An absent minded gesture, it seemed.

He still never talked to her about the war. She had stopped asking him. He would sometimes be somewhere else, staring blankly. They would be talking and he'd stop, resume the conversation or start a new one. She couldn't tell anyone or they'd think he was losing his mind.

* * *

_Matthew_

He doesn't remember most of that day. He handed the medal to Williams father. It was cruel not letting his father have it, his own family. He didn't deserve it. They stopped at Williams grave. Mary fiddling with that infernal blanket. It had become the baine of his existence, apart from the crutches. No those actually helped. It made things a bit easier.

Daniel helped him back to his room. That's all he remembers. He doesn't want to alarm Mary or his mother. He had had trouble concentrating. He found himself wondering what he had thought about through out the ceremony. His mind drew a blank. He'd been half there, half somewhere else, able to give off short few responses. He loved his and Marys banters. He had wanted to smile. He could feel it start. He had covered it with his fist. How inappropriate it would have been. He didn't want to look like a lunatic. But he couldn't argue that fact that his mind had been somewhere else. He couldn't recall where. He had never been so scattered brained. He always remembered every minute of his day, well almost. If you remembered every detail you'd go insane. Had he gone blank to simply block out the memories of war, that he was sure had been about to flood in? Nothing was ever simple. There were still some details he couldn't recall about the war. What else is there? He recalled most of the worst of it. He had gone off somewhere. An escape. While they were saying things, nice things about the ones that would never come home.

Where had he been? Through all of that? Perhaps no where. In no mans land...

"Shell!" Someone yelled.

He was back there. William jumping in front of him.

"No. No. No. No." He could hear him self shout it, over the blasts. It was a chant over and over. He felt like he couldn't breath, like he was suffocating. Trapped in the trench, the boards had caved it over him. He had to get out. He had to get to William. He had to. But some force was preventing him. "William." His eyes snapped open. The name hung in the air as the walls of Downton entered his vision, his mind still in a fog but he was able to know, that he hadn't been back there. It had all been a dream. He slowly came to realise what the pressure was. What had been restraining him.

Someone was holding him, shushing him. He didn't know who it was. But it was a woman. She spoke to him. His mother? No. The voice belonged to someone younger. Tally? Ethel? A hand soothed back his hair as his body still shook. He held onto her and her grip held fast. He closed his eyes, not looking.

His breathing relaxed, not caring for the moment. He wasn't alone.

**AN: I'm not going to tell you who it was. That's the mystery. But I can tell you it wasn't Mary. A long over haul of chapters but I wanted to get them done before the Christmas Holiday. A Christmas present to my fellow readers and writers. Have a happy Christmas and an awesome New Year!**


	9. Isobel: 1917-1918

She got the first boat home as soon a she could, it had been a grueling two days. Anything could have happened. No, she mustn't think like that. Matthew would pull through. She smiled upon seeing him, though it was more of a grimace, trying to hide her frayed nerves. He had deep bruising around his eyes, and cuts on his face, that would leave small scars. He looks pale, almost deathly, even though he was in the clear. At least to their standards. He could be at risk of depression. He needed to be checked on regularly. And his health could still be at risk from infections, that were common in paralyzed people, but it wasn't as high a risk as if the injury had occurred higher in the thoracic. She went into 'nurse mode' just as Matthew would go into 'lawyer mode' when something was troubling him, they were both alike in that way other than their shared stubbornness, even Reggie had been the same. But he would have had the sense to tell his son, to not feel sorry for himself or he wouldn't get any better. He often told that to his patience, using it in a more sterner way with his family. Focus on what you do have. She doesn't have the strength to use her husbands words, at least right now.

She wanted to tell him the next course of action, that it'd be alright but she can't find the words. She knows not what to say to someone that is paralyzed. This was not just someone, this was her son, her independent boy, he had been since he was a small child. He preferred to do things on his own. He would have to rely on the care of others for the rest of his life. She knew this will be harder on him than anyone else.

"Mother!" He says with a smile, a little bit of joy but there is something awful behind it. She sees that he is utterly broken, both in body as he is in spirit, which was more apparent. His nostrils were flaring, holding it in. She already knows the pain that is there, that he is feeling, not just the psychical kind, what he must be, thinking that he's worthless, that his life was over. He would need reassuring. But for now she could say nothing.

"My boy, my darling, darling boy." She embraced him, pulling him to her, as he was too weak to sit up on his own yet, and he put his arms around her. She listened to the sound of his crying, like a helpless child, nearly ripping her heart out of her chest. This is all she can do for him right now. Nothing else needs to be said.

They had told her the extent of his injury. The loss of the movement in his legs seemed to pale in comparison to the loss of his ability to father children. It was especially cruel. He had always wanted to be a father. He would have been a great father. Now all that had been ripped away from him. It is hard to explain to someone, even to a grown man. She had been thankful that Mary already had, that she had been taking such good care of him. She had become quite the nurse, but of course Mary had been modest about it, that it had been her sister. It had been partially that. She wasn't sure if Matthew would have had the will to live if he didn't have her.

Later she would learn that Matthew had tried to 'free her' from their engagement but Mary stubbornly refused to let him go. He would need that. She had been there for her son when she wasn't. There would be many days like that when they were married. A part of her felt that it wasn't right, that a young woman should settle for this life. She would have stuck by it if war hadn't taught her that tomorrow wasn't always promised. You had to live like it was your last. It wouldn't be the last for Matthew for a very long time. Though she couldn't pretend that she didn't know what that would feel like to him, that death being better hadn't crossed his mind. Did she believe he was capable of hurting himself or taking his life? Of course not. He would think it but he would never act on it. He had people who loved and cared about him. A lot of wounded soldiers come home with no families, no one to care for them, loved ones who left, unable to come to terms with how they were now changed. Matthew would never change, too much. He was still her son. And he needed her now more than ever. He needed all the love and support he could get. There would be dark days ahead. She just didn't know how dark.

What he had revealed about the previous heir and that he could still be alive, she could hardly believe his demeanor. She had never seen him this bitter, when he had been in his brooding moods, but this was pure utter bitterness, directed toward the family. There had been a coldness about him that was so unlike him.

He had not wanted to get out of bed, those four of the five days he stayed with her at Crawley House or take care of himself, he refused help. What was the point?

Eventually Ethel had got him to. She was sweet when she wanted to, well mostly to Matthew. She would lay out his things in the mornings, take things to him, lay out his shaving tackle, mend his shirts. Bates or Moseley would do the rest, help him get in and out of bed and with getting dressed.

The fifth day he was out of bed, in higher spirits, after Johnathan Buckley called from his old law office, offering him a job. Isobel urged him to rethink it before taking it. A sudden change could lead to a set back, she didn't tell him that of course. She dreaded to think what his life would be like without Mary. She was the only thing keeping him truly grounded.

What had been the most hard for her in that first month was when he started the first round of exercise with the nurse. The first thing was for him to practice pulling himself up in a sitting position with his arms.

It was extremely difficult to watch, as he tried to sit up in the bed. The nurse had him on his back and concentrating on throwing one arm over the other to roll on one side. It took several tries. He pushed down with his hands to raise his upper body incrementally to a shaky sitting position for the first time. His body tottered back and forth in a battle of balance. He eventually steadied. He leaned forward and planted a hand on each side to steady himself as he tried again.

He looked up and smiled when he heard her clapping along with the nurse. He seemed surprised by, and glad for, this very small thing. It was very far from small.

His recovery seems like a miracle. A year and a half after his injury, he was able to stand but not walk. It was uncertain that he ever would, though the Doctor had said he would. But this news was greater than any. After they were able to do an x-ray, which had been impossible during the war, many were being used in ambulances, they were able to find that it hadn't been a complete transection but a partial he could only recover as he would allow on the surface, his mind however, was what troubles her more. She had brushed it off in disbelief when Clarkson had said the words. She had doubted that he even believed his first guess. But she couldn't tell Clarkson about it. She didn't know if she could trust him about this yet, if he would want to send her son away. She wouldn't let anyone. She didn't want anyone to know. For as long as possible. Being here, surrounded by a support system was best for him. But now things were becoming more clear.

Her son has shell shock. She can no longer deny it, after she had seen the episode in the drawing room. She had been hoping that it was nothing more than the nightmares. She had seen soldiers in the Boer war that had been inflicted with it. But he wasn't violent as some of them had been, acting out the battles in their mind. He'd just stare blankly when something reminded him of the war, or someone said something about it, or shake uncontrollably when he heard a loud noise. But not always. They were becoming unpredictable. She had shielded him as his body had begun to shake. He had pulled himself up using the fireplace. Then there had been gunfire outside. Hunting season had begun early. That was when he began to shake. The others had thought it had been from his effort to stand. It was much more than that.

No one could know. But what would that mean for Mary and Matthew? Perhaps it was alright for Mary to know. If they were to marry, he should at least tell her. He tells her that he would. She did not know if he had meant it. He couldn't hide things from Mary, keep it bottled up. That could affect a marriage, stunt its growth. There were more factors than that to consider. The shell shock and the nightmares would be the least of their problems.

A little over a year, after his injury, she still had the thoughts, what risks he could still have. If he didn't exercise the muscles would began to shrink and atrophy. If that was allowed to go on to long, his legs would be permanently damaged and then he'd never be able to walk again. There were a lot of problems and health risks. Among many health risks, pneumonia stood out, a leading cause of death—along with suicide. She didn't want to think of it. Any thought of that should have long passed by now, if he had ever had thought. She couldn't ask if he had ever thought it. He was starting to get back to his old self. She didn't want to destroy any progress that was made. He has almost come to terms that he would need assistance for the rest of his life. That still was and always will be, in medical terms, partially paralyzed. He had more periods of good moods and was hardly agitated anymore.

His outlook on it all lately had been a positive one. She hadn't been expecting it when he had said, "Let's work out what I can do. I can do more if I exercise properly, get my strength and muscles built back up. I'll practice on my crutches with walking. Eventually I can hopefully move on to a stick. I might be more independent but not much more. I might have to rely on the wheelchair most of the time but at least I won't be in it all the time. It could take at least another year, Isobel was predicting, to get to that goal. He was determined to cut that time in half. She urged to him to take it a little as at a time, set a pace he was comfortable with.

That's what she had thought, that he was accepting and never had anymore angry outbursts, until Mary approached her about it.

"He still has bouts where he gets irritable and angry and shouts at me. One moment he's happy. I thought that he's accepted...I don't understand him."

"No one truly does, even when he was a little boy. Reggie did but even he didn't understand him. That's the depression."

"You think he's depressed?" When Isobel gave a small nod she gave a look of disbelief, "How could I not have known?"  
"That's how it is. Sometimes there is no telling. He is going to feel that way about himself but not all the time. This is another big change for him." Mary nodded and looked away from her mother in-law. "The best thing we can do for him now is not fall apart as we've always have through all of this. We need to continue being his support system and remind him that we are there for him and he's cared for and loved."


	10. Robert: March-April 1917

Robert would not believe it. He didn't know if he ever would. He felt utter despair. Not because of the possibility that losing his heir and the continuation of his family line. The war didn't make that important anymore. All he wanted was his daughters' happiness. He had truly thought of Matthew as the son he never had.

Captain Crawley would be listed as missing, presumed dead until proven otherwise.

He felt into even deeper despair, when he was found,his back broken, more so for his daughter and Matthew, what their life would be like now. At least he was alive. How much the young lad might believe it, dead wasn't better.

He could have died, it had been touch and go. He had talked with Cora about it. He usually could talk to her about anything, but not recently he hadn't been able to. She'd been thinking he'd bring up the Boer war, so very different from this one. 1902, it had been twelve years since they had married. He had nightmares over the first few years. And Cora had accused him of not being there for her, for the girls. That it had been his choice to go to war.

He had heard Mary arguing with Isobel about it in a similar fashion.

"It's a man's duty to fight for his King and Country." Isobel was explaining to Mary.

"And that's more important to him?"

"Of course it's not."

"You should have tried, not to let him go."

"I did try."

"You should have tried harder."

He had only caught fragments of their conversation. He had thought back to the day he had signed up. He had taken her into the nursery.

_"They're the reason." _He had told Cora.

It wasn't just the fact that he had left her for war. She had blamed his time away he chose away from his daughters. Choosing it over his family. She came to see that he was doing it to protect them, so they'd be safe. Then, when he came home, her distance, she blamed the nightmares on him. She came to understand them and didn't do so now. He resented the thought of talking to her about this current war.

He had come home to a different world, just like many soldiers would be coming home to one, they themselves damaged.

All his friends were dead. He would understand what Matthew was going through.

He went to the hospital before they would be moving him to Downton to convalesce. When his eyes first fell on him, he scarcely recognised him.

His hair was dark and his face pale, as if he hadn't seen the sun in ages, he was rather on the thin side, his cheeks hollow. Bruises or were their shadows, under his eyes? His face had scratches, that would turn into scars. Nothing too bad. There was nothing to suggest that there was anything wrong with him.

"Nerves are shot, that one. He woke a few times. " The orderly said as he approached."Didn't know where he was. Could be the morphine. Pray to God that's all it is. Do you know 'im?"

"Captain Crawley, he's my cousin. I'm Robert Crawley. Lord Grantham." Displaying no emotion in his voice as he was trained to do. His eyes dropped to Matthew again. "Do they know what happened to him? He was missing before..." Robert stopped. He couldn't continue.

"Captain Crawley, now I remember. Their regiment got hold up, the Jerries dropping shells on them non stop. No reinforcements. The lot of them were taken prisoner. A board collapsed on 'im, was there for hours. He was. Pulled out by his batman."

"William Mason. Is there any word on him?"

"They'll be moving him to Downton from Leeds as soon as possible."

"That's good to know. Do you know what happened then?"

"Then they assisted another soldier, that's what the young lad said. That's when they were stuck by the blast from the looks of it."

"Matthew said that? You said he woke."

"No. The few times he woke he wasn't coherent, ravin' and confused and what not. Young Mason told us what happened. Poor lad. Doesn't look like he's going to make it." It was always the young ones.

"What are his injuries?" Robert nodded toward Matthew.

"I'm sure the doctor will tell you."

He still looked whole, even after he had seen the bruising on his back. Robert knows he will never be quite whole again.

He talks to him, while he's 'asleep.' _Talking to him will help_. Though he does it when no one is present, late at night. He doesn't know if the words get across. He tells him how proud of him he is. He's part of the family. Robert had always liked him from the moment they had met. He tells Matthew as such. And he knows that how much he loves his daughter. What ever he decides, weather he still wants to marry her or not, he'll accept it.

"Love our little girl – you were created to love her in a way that only you can. Cling to that love with all your might. Bind it to your heart. Us Crawley's have a saying you know, loyalty binds me. Fitting that you became a lawyer. Middle class no less. That doesn't matter now like it shouldn't have before. You're a true Crawley, through and through. I know you'll pull through this for that very reason. This isn't the end for you, even though you may feel like it is. As long as you have Mary, have us. We know you would give up your life for her, what ever you decide, please don't leave us."

And day by day, he was showing improvement. He believed it to be Mary's doing, by him just sensing her there. He had doubted that any of his words had been heard. Still, for what other reason, he came back to them. He was going to pull through. With Mary egging on, he expected further improvement. He was doing it for her sake. He would do right by his daughter, despite how many times he rebuff's her help.

_Loyalty, and a stubborn nature to recon with._

That loyalty was tested.

Matthew had known Patrick, albeit briefly before the Titanic went down. And then that he had a letter from Patrick, from earlier in the year, it was instructed to be delivered to him upon Patrick's death and to give it to Mary. Matthew had believed that Patrick had died in the sinking until he came across him on the battlefield.

Robert felt betrayed, disbelief, that the man he loved like his own son would intentionally betray them like this.

He had to take a step back and re-think, as his youngest daughter said, There is a war on. And he's been out of sorts."

He hadn't done it on purpose. That reasoning didn't explain why he didn't mention that he had known Patrick. As his mind cleared a bit from the cloud of anger, Robert didn't really had to second guess. Patrick hadn't wanted to be Earl, and hadn't wanted to disappoint him. While the Crawley's tried to be noble, as the nobles that they were, and loyal and true, there was another side of them that was far from perfect.

_While we all dream of having family members who love us unconditionally, support us without question, and would never, ever betray us, the unfortunate truth of the matter is that many families are the exact opposite. We may go through life believing in this fairy tale until slapped in the face by the harsh reality that your family is more like a snake pit, with venomous siblings who will strike you with their poison in your darkest hour._ It had almost undone generations in the past if not the financial troubles. The worst of the Crawley side, or the Smith's on his mother paternal side?

Rosamund, in her giant ego, she was entitled to the very best of everything the world had to offer her. She was better and much smarter than everyone. His role in her life-long play, growing up, was that of "scapegoat", constantly bearing the brunt of being blamed for any and every problem, bad deed (whether accidental or intentional) or other family issue. But it all would back fire because he was the future Earl and could do no wrong. Mary had used to think that was what he and her mother thought of Matthew. (Cora been awfully silent on Matthew's condition, his paralysis. It was a troubling sign when Cora was silent about something.) Mary had accused him of hailing Matthew, the "golden child", pun intended, molding himself into the person he thought would most impress him. Which had been far from the truth. She had known it and had just been angry and jealous. And then there was the hostility towards Edith, he did not understand it.

War put all of that on the back burner. One small indiscretion, intentional or not was not worth losing family over right now, not in these trying times. Everyone was losing a family member here or there. They had to stick together as a family if they were to survive.


	11. Ethel: May 1917

Ethel did not know where she would go, after losing the baby. She offered to continue to help with Mr. Crawley but he was planning on moving back into the main house at the following the week. What would happen to her then?

A week after she was well rested and recovered, Isobel had talked to Lady Grantham and she was willing to take her back, and she could continue with her care with Mr. Crawley, but was not to get in the way when nurse was doing her job.

"Mr. Matthew will need waiting on." Cora told her, privately in the drawing room. "and I don't want to bother the other servants when Mrs. Crawley says you've already done well with it. Also there will be a trained nurse living here for six weeks. So I'm offering you a position as housemaid, same as before, except, you'll make up Mr. Matthew's rooms and the nurses, but you're not to get in her way. And you're to wait on him, bring him what he needs. You won't be given any other housemaid duties. Though I might give you some mending to do."

"Yes, My Lady. Thank you, My Lady." Ethel said softly and curtsied politely.

"There will be a lot to do to get the rooms ready."

Ethel left the room, weepy eyed when no one else could she her. She accompanies the quiet drive back to Crawley house with Mrs. Isobel. She discussed with Ethel that she can have her learn skills to help run a household. She will need a job once Mr. Crawley could do some things for himself again. But Ethel is barley listening.

When Mr. Crawley told her he was sorry, she said it was alright. "It wasn't meant to be."

She starts to mend on his shirt. He's tired so she invites herself to leave so that he can rest. He asks her to stay. So stay, she does. He doesn't want to sleep for he fears the nightmares. She knows just what will help. She comes back with a few books. One of them hides a flat, flash like bottle, the pages hollowed and cut out to fit it's shape. He is shocked. There is no label but it clearly alcohol. He refuses it, however. She leaves it just in case, continuing on with her sewing. Not even a minute later, the room becomes like a three ring circus. There are so many people in and out of this room, asking how he is, if he needed anything.

She was about to chase them off with, "that's what I'm here for." But Mr. Crawley does that for her. It's from lack of sleep, that and he's tired of people pampering him, and touching him all the time.

And then Lady Mary comes to see him.

Ethel shoots daggers at her back as she's asked to leave. She was jealous of her. Because if anyone was going to look after Mr. Matthew, it was her. They were two broken people and had a understanding. They were stronger because of the broken places.

* * *

Few of the staff were still not that very kind to her but they had no choice but to put up with her. The few that didn't seem to care were Anna, Bates, and Molesley. But it turned out that it had been a big misunderstanding that Ethel was still in 'that life', being a prostitute. Though they were all deeply saddened and sympathetic about her losing the child. Taking care of Mr. Matthew had taken her mind of it.

"I don't pretend to be better than anyone else but Mr. Crawley was never unkind to us, was he?" Ethel said, sitting at the servants table, continuing to mend Mr. Crawley's shirt. She had never seen him shout at anyone. He had at several people trying to help him.

" No." Molesley was the one to speak, "He's a good man. The worst moment I've ever seen him...I don't like seeing him like that." He was frequent to Mr. Crawley's tyrants.

"Mr. Crawley shouldn't be treated unfairly because he's come back different." Carson said, " He did a great service for this country, he deserves to be respected. Regardless of any position. It will be a long recovery and it won't be an easy one. Perhaps what we should all strive for is some kindness towards him." His gaze goes to Thomas. But even Thomas agrees.

* * *

Mary had snuck to his room, after the revolving door of people, hoping to get a chance to talk with him. They barely said anything to each other, well anything of great importance. He knows she wants to ask him about the war, how she could help him. Every time he would have this uncomfortable air around him. H_ow can he get better if he never talks about it?_ There are things he is hiding, things he doesn't want her to see or know.

He'd occasionally have his moods, occasionally chasing out the servants, not literally of course. Even eighteen months later, the day of the armistice, that's supposed to be a day of peace. She had come up, after Bates had helped him in to bed.

_It wasn't proper. _But Mary hadn't cared. She had heard that just now, Lang had ran from Matthew's room in a freight. He had probably had said something unsavory to the man.

"I know you're accustomed to doing things your own way, but do you have to upset everyone in this house? What's poor Lang ever done to you?" She said all this is a teasing manner but it was tinted with frustration.

"I didn't do a blasted thing. I behaved toward him with the same civility I'm showing you." He's given an offended look. "Upstairs, Downstairs, should be treated with the same respect. We're all the same in this." _This war._

She knows it's on his mind. But the war was over. Maybe he meant, in this life.

"It wouldn't have to do what he said to you at breakfast?" Lang had dropped a tray and Carson had looked about to have a coronary. They all thought he actually did, when he almost collapsed but it had been a false alarm. While all of this had been going on, Lang had bent over, whispering something to him. It had seemed to cause Matthew a great deal of distress.

"Of course not."

She had to take his word on it. So she dropped the topic.

"If that had been Carson, I wouldn't have been surprised if he hit you with a tray." She goes on saying that she was worried about him. "Dr. Clarkson says he'll be alright. False alarm." Matthew just sits, with a vexed expression.

"All he did was open the door and the man went to pieces. He looked at me and dropped his tray." The tray hadn't made a sound, stifled from the carpeting. Matthew had been startled by the tray that had been dropped in the dining room. No one had noticed, that he was thankful for. But the second tray Lang had dropped on the carpet, had not. "I've no idea why, do you?"

"All I know is that Carson had to put him to bed. He's the one that should be staying in bed. He's overrun. I'm sure if I demand him too, he will. He'll listen to his Lady Mary."

"Is that what he calls you?" Matthew was grinning from ear to ear. Mary felt her own ears grow hot.

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"Didn't you want me to? To start to enjoy things again. Partake in your usual customs?" He was having her on but she could detect that he was holding back on what he was truly feeling. She didn't know how much he wanted too. He couldn't explain it to her when he himself didn't understand him. He tried not to be angry but he was.

"How does your back feel?" She sat down gently on the bed. He would complain about it at times.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep now."

She drew herself up with a sigh. "I might not either. Mama's getting a cough." They were saying it was this new Spanish flu that's going around and that it was deadly. She hoped it wasn't that. She said nothing about it. She didn't want him to worry about it.

"It seems all I'll ever do is lie in bed." He shakes his head back and forth, then looks up at the ceiling.

"Not all the time. You just can't go out right now. With this weather. Don't want you getting a cold."

He groaned, you sound like my mother."

"None of that attitude now."

"You see my point. I have a never ending cycle of people taking care of me. I don't need you to."

"Yes. You do. No one else is going to get you out of those moods of yours."

"You should know by now to enter this room at your own risk."

"I did. And I thought you were asleep."

"And I was. The fuss you're making is unnecessary."

She regarded him with a stern expression. Then her face softened and she gave a sigh. "I suppose if our roles were reversed, and I'd fallen off Diamond and injured my back, having people wait on me all the time, hand and foot, touching me, I wouldn't be in a pleasant mood."

"Admit it, you'd love it. Getting pampered like a princess, that you are."

"By who, you?" She instinctively gave him a flirtatious glance. He hadn't noticed or had chose not to, for he didn't acknowledge it. He turned his head away from her.

"Everyone is grateful that you're here." She courageously took hold of his hand. He let her. _One small thing at a time. He'd surely get there. But it seems when he does, we're back to where we had started. I have to try harder. _"Anything you want to talk about..."

"No. There isn't." He then looks at her and smiles. "I would want to...but I can't. I wish I could understand it all...to explain it to you. It's very hard."

_"_I'll give you all the time you need."

"Thanks for understanding, Mary." He stares into her eyes. Wanting to reach out and touch her hair, kiss her.

She does. She leans in, her lips firmly on his. He lets her love wash over him, like a wave, a cocoon. Here he is safe. Here, he forgets. This is a different type of forgetting. The sorrow temporarily washes away, like footprints on a beach. Then there are new ones. Only to be washed away again.


	12. Mary and Matthew: 1919-1920

The third time he proposed to her was on Christmas Eve. She had found it even more romantic than when he had proposed to her on the balcony of his hotel room in London. The first time they had been young and foolish. He had been twenty-eight and she had been twenty-two. It had been on the spot and impulsive, after he had rescued Sybil. Her sister's hero. The second time, (a war hero, a soldier) they had been fueled by emotions that ran high in wartime, the most prevalent being fear, of losing a loved one, of there not being a tomorrow.

They had come so far since then, in so many ways. It had taken him a year to move on from his crutches to a stick, just in time for their wedding. They were married in the summer, June of 1920. They could start where they should have, all those years ago. Now it was finally here. They had both been anxious, laying together for the first time. She had to be on top. She would have to help him, guide him. It was different, than it had with Pumak. This had a special meaning. It wasn't lust. It was love.

He couldn't feel her, but he could feel the pressure, her cries of pleasure, shuttering through him. He was done before she could finish. She could sense his embarrassment and devastation. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Doctor Jacobson had explained that it would difficult. They had plenty of time to practice. She had said to him.

He was pleased with that. "God, I hope so." He gave her a kiss on her forehead and rolled over on his side, his back to her. The sheet slipped off his shoulders revealing a road map of scars. She could almost forget. She moved in closer, tracing them with her fingers. As she did so, he took in a sharp intake of breath.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, wanting to kiss every one of them, but she knew he would not be ready for it.

"Mmm, no." He replied, almost lost in her touch. He couldn't believe that she was. When he reached his lower back, he couldn't feel her, just as he hadn't been able to feel himself inside her. "Does it disgust you?"

"No." How could he think that?

"Good, you're stuck with me." He said, teasingly.

When she had woken in the middle of the night, he wasn't bedside her. She instantly panicked, wondering where he had gone. She found him on the sofa, in the throws on a nightmare, calling out for his dead friends. Names she didn't recognise. Then he was calling out for Patrick, to William. Was he trying to save them in his dream? Or was he reliving the horrors that he had seen done to them?

"Matthew, it's alright. It's me, Mary. We're in Scotland."

He just stared at her, wordlessly as the confusion faded.

After his nightmare, she had yet to see that the worst was yet to come, she helped him back into bed. They laid and talked for almost the rest of the night, not discussing what had just happened. They spoke of common day things, beautiful things. She saw saw the moisture in his eyes. She wasn't niave to see that he was still a broken man. They were taking small steps at a time.

She spoke of how she felt when he had proposed to her in the snow. She had felt cold at first but when he had asked her, she hadn't felt cold at all.

"All I kept thinking was, he's going to propose. He's going to propose!"

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away."

She looked up at him, surprised, wondering where this had come from. He bent his head down to kiss her. They stayed laying in each other's arms.

* * *

He was sitting with his mother in the day room at Crawley house. It had been a few weeks since he had returned from the honeymoon. He'd been waiting for her to surprise her. She was ecstatic when she had seen him upon entering, a letter in her hand. He could tell instantly that it's contents had bothered her.

"Mother, what is it?"

"Mr. Besler died last night." She said, joining him at the table. "His funeral is on Wednesday."

Memories flashed through his mind like a newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days and as a young adult. At least they weren't the usual torments of war. Mr. Besler had been their neighbor back in Manchester, for as far back as Matthew could remember.

"Matthew, did you hear me?" Fearing, perhaps he had gone off to the war again.

"Oh, sorry, Mother. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I thought he died years ago," Matthew said. He had always seemed an ancient man, even back then, when he'd been a small child.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it.

"I loved that old house he lived in."

"You know, after your father died, Mr. Besler stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"I was twenty-one."

"You still needed your father."

Matthew didn't say anything to this. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he pretended to look at the newspaper, skimming through it. He didn't find anything that peaked his interest.. There was something about American Woman getting the right to vote. He'd have to show that to Edith and Sybil later.

"He's the one who taught me how to be a lawyer ," he said, neatly folding the paper. Most of the people who had inspired him had been. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important." Though he did rebel against his parents wishes, becoming a doctor, and decided to be a lawyer instead, Mr. Besler, had a big part in that decision. He thought of all the times the old man had been there instead of his parents. "Mother, I'd like to attend the funeral."

"Are you sure? That you'd be up for it? You just got back."

"I know. It wasn't what I had in mind for my second trip."

"I meant, if it's too much for you..."

"I'm perfectly well rested. I want to get out as much as I can." The train ride he was dreading again. It was the thought of being packed in with all those bodies. Claustrophobia. A result of a man being buried under ruble and with no company but dead bodies for hours. He had to get out more often or keep busy in order to keep what was left of his mind. He mustn't let his limitations get in the way.

"I was starting to think I would never go back. I want to go. To say my goodbyes." He had never been able to say goodbye to so many.

"Do you think Mary will be on board with the plan?" Her daughter in-law was always making a fuss over him, over his health. She should be thankful at times but Isobel still felt that was her job too, she should be allowed to. And they had recently just gotten back from their honeymoon, having spent only a week as husband and wife and now he was going away.

"She'll understand, it's something I need to do. Alone, with you."

"I hired a nurse and Molesley with be coming with us."

Mary was understanding and let him go, though she hated to be without him. Mr. Besler's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before they had to return home, they stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Wheeling through the doorway, he paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. Like H.G Well's Time Machine. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture. Matthew then stopped suddenly at his desk.

"Matthew, is something wrong?"

"The box is gone," he said

"What box?"

"There was a small box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most.' He figured someone from the Besler family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Matthew said, giving a sigh. "I better get some sleep. We have an early train ride home."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Besler died. Returning home from the office, he had managed to make it out today. He wasn't quite used to the stares yet, he was unsure if he ever would, Carson had his post waiting for him.

The package was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Besler" it read.

Matthew took the box and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. His hands shook as he read the note inside. This was why he'd been inclined to read Patrick's letter. It would hurt much worse.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Matthew Crawley. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, he carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Thanks for your time!"

He held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.

"Why?" Janet, his secretary asked.

"I need some time to spend with the people I love and say care for," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!"

_Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away._

He had to read Patrick's letter now. It was the only way he could lay him to rest. And to finally start to move on.


	13. June 1920

"Moving?" Robert had wondered when this topic would come up. He hadn't expected it to be so soon. It had been tradition for the heir and his family to live outside the home, at Downton Place, until he received the Earldom. But they had had to sell it. A small part of him had hoped that they would stay here, living at the estate.

"Matthew and I discussed it before the wedding. " Mary didn't give him a chance to reply, or most likely protest. "We'll be moving to Ripon."

"Wouldn't that be hard on Matthew?" He was genuinely concerned but was also looking for an excuse for them to stay. He had lost his wife, barley even two years ago. He couldn't lose his daughter.

"We'll have a live in nurse and Matthew can work from home. We can have you and the family come visit and we'll write and call, and we can come down to the estate on Christmas Holiday. The flat we looked at has a lift." She took a sip of tea to hide her nervousness. She felt a bit guilty for not having had told him.

"What if it were to break down?" He was more worried about Matthew's mind breaking down. Although, that surely should have happened long before now, shouldn't it have? The boy had a strong willed mind. And he was making progress. He could start to move on from the war. But could he truly put it behind him? And the ramifications from his injury would make it difficult on him and Mary and their marriage. He still needed care. Here they had all the help they could possibly need.

"The floor we'll be on doesn't have many stairs." The landlord had been willing to accomodate, and relocate them to a different flat if the stairs became too much. He had been sympathetic, as he was a veteran himself. He had served in the South African war. Mary had half expected Matthew to tire of it but he was surprisingly grateful, speaking to the man as if they were old friends.

His wife had died very young, and both his sons were killed in the war. He had a daughter that lived far away but never contacted him. He had spoken to Mary about this, whilst Matthew went to check the flat out for himself. She got to talking with the Landlord, Mr Lake, well he did.

She reminded him of his daughter, back in simpler times. She wondered if Matthew would become like him. No. He would always have family to care for him, even at times when he wanted to close himself off. Maybe she was projecting. And she couldn't help notice the parallels between the Landlord and her father. That was when Matthew had called her away.

"I want you to be happy for us, Papa."

"I am, my darling girl, I am."

* * *

Mary and Matthew discussed it, later that day. She asked him what he had thought of the flat and if he'd come to a decision.

"I don't think it's the right place for us." He said.

_No place is right for us. _Mary angrily thought but she didn't want to start an argument. "I talked to Papa about it."

"What does he think about it?"

"He's alright with it, I suppose. Though we don't really need his permission."

Matthew just sat in silent reply, his arms folded to a point his elbows were resting on the arms of his wheelchair, (he often did so as he had nowhere else to put them) hands resting on his stomach, his fingers intertwined. "I think we should keep looking." He stated after a moment.

"I'm sure if we go back and check out the other units..."

"We'll look somewhere else. I can't be around someone like that Mary." Mr Lake had been genuine, he had no doubt. He'd just be another reminder, and he didn't want the old man projecting one of his dead sons on to him. She gazed at him, with a look that said, how did you know? "Thin walls." He replied with a faint smile, picking up his glass and taking a drink. "I'd like to stay here a little longer, if that's alright with you. No need to be in a hurry."

"Right. I quite agree." She responded with a smile. She watched him, frowning. _Here he is, putting up his walls again. _She had thought she had been the master of that. What did he not want her to see? What was he keeping from her?

Saying nothing more, he took out a cigar and lit it. His silence would signal that he wanted to be alone.

She came up and soothed his shoulder before she left the room. Once she was gone he unlocked the roll down top of his desk, where he had put Patrick's letter. It wasn't there. He checked the other slots but drew up nothing. Where could he have misplaced it?

The subject came up again, as he was getting ready for bed. Changing clothes was still a chore. Pajamas were easier. He rarely needed any assistance with those. He needed to be sitting or lying down to put his clothes on. He'd lose his balance if he tried it standing up. He had to move his body and his gait differently, using his upper mostly, as his lower didn't function like it used to, to make up for the function certain muscles no longer had. Which meant he often got tired easily, and he would sometimes have to use the chair the rest of the day or lay in bed. But he wasn't complaining. He had come this far, which had been thought to be impossible. And he had only begun using the stick a few weeks ago.

"I also was planning on looking into a smaller estate, with less stairs. Not as grand as here. I was thinking of Carson coming to work for us. But I don't think he would."

"Since Carson would open his veins for you." He finished buttoning his nightshirt and then put on his robe, before he went off to use the bathroom. As he returned, drawing the belt tightly, he saw that she was sitting up in bed, her hair down, a letter in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. He was tempted to give her a kiss, maybe even do more. Then he saw the envelope. Patrick's writing.

"You've read it." He tried to grab the letter from her but she moved it away from his reach. He wasn't angry that she had somehow had gotten into his desk and taken it. He had wanted to read it alone. But as she started to read it out loud to him, the sinking feeling in his stomach eased. Perhaps it was for the best, that she was here with him.

_"Dear Matthew, if this finds its way to you, do not feel guilt or regret for whatever fate has befallen me, and know that it is with my blessing and my intent that you be happy. I could not think of such an honorable man to take my place. I will say nothing more for you know how I hate goodbye's, other than to be happy._

_Godspeed, my dearest friend_

She choked up on the last words but he hadn't noticed. She looked up as he collapsed back into the chair, in the corner of the room, near his side of the bed. She saw his wall begin to crumble. Her own eyes begin to tear up, sharing his pain and anguish.

It hit him in shock waves as she finished. It was out there, it was done. Patrick's final words, his final say, it was suddenly all...final.

His hand shot up to cover his face. He didn't want her to see him this way. He tried to stop it but he couldn't. He couldn't stop the flood of tears, as he thought of his fallen friends, their clear smiling faces.

She saw that his body was shaking. She shot up from the bed, and knelt down in front of him, trying to move his hands away. "Please, don't..." _Don't hide from me. Let me see you._

He took his hands away as if he had read her thoughts.

"I didn't cry..." He hadn't cried for him when he'd received the news. He never cried for any of his fallen comrades. He had never been able to properly grieve. "For any of them."

She sat on his lap, holding him, soothing the back of his head, hiding her own face from him.

"That's it. You can let it go now. Let it all out."

The crying stopped.

"Now we can start to heal." She said.

He nodded.

"My darling, Mary, what would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?"

He raised his head. He had never thought that she could love him in that same capacity. Of course she did. How could he ever think that? One could not live without the other.

He looked at her with wide eyes, always so impossibly blue. They weren't filled with fear and torment, she usually saw in his eyes. They were filled with love, and needing. "Can you kiss me?"

She did.

* * *

**_AN: I couldn't quite leave this story alone. So I'm trying to get this to where it's the best it can be. It just keeps nagging at me. These are missing moments, in between scenes of For Ever and Ever, if you will. I was going for a one shot theme chapters. This probably won't be the last one (Chapter. Hopefully it won't be for this universe) I know the last part I covered is the scene from my For Ever and Ever series but expanded on with Mary and Matthew's point of view. I dislike writing in first person, so I changed that one chapter in For Ever and Ever that has it. A lot has been fixed and changed in that story as well, with more depth and detail, as I want it to be the best it can be too. I want to thank all of your reviews. They help me come up with ideas, resparking my love for this series that is Downton Abbey, and inspire me to be a better writer._**


	14. July 1920

There was a still a somber air surrounding Edith a few weeks after she had been jilted at the altar. Mary felt it was her fault in some way, having wished her sister luck on her wedding day. _Don't be ridiculous_.

Edith's birthday would be coming up soon but Mary doubted she'd be wanting to celebrate.

She had gained a softer side for her sister. Matthew had brought that out in her, or perhaps it had been the war, a combination of both, put everything into retrospect.

She and Matthew had taken a walk down the garden path, sitting on the bench. He still rarely got out, unless it was to the office, he'd gotten his old job back (since the many young boys that completed law school before they were called to war had died.) Branson drove him to and from work in the village. It was mostly filing, since he'd been away for for five years. It was half way through 1920. The world was changing, new laws being put in place. Matthew would have to partake in a lot of studying to get caught up and that would cut into most of his and Mary's time. She found it strange, that he didn't want things to change, at least that's what she sensed from him, Matthew who had been adamant about changing with the times. _Another year he outlived his friends. Why would he feel guilty about that? He was fortunate to come back to those who love him. _She never understood it. Yes, she understood survivors quilt was a part of it.

She supposed_, he'd always feel guilty about it. But enough of that. Think happy thoughts. You're out here enjoying the weather with your husband. What more could I ask for? _

She wanted to spend as much time with him as she could. But that wasn't the only thing that was on her mind. It kept coming back to her sister, annoyingly.

"You're making that face." He said in his soft, soothing voice, without looking at her, giving her a side grin.

"What face?" She replied, as if she didn't know what he was talking about.

"It scrunches up when you're contemplating something."

"I'm not doing it on purpose." A pause. "How do you know this isn't my normal face?" She challenged.

"I know your normal face. And that isn't it." He changed his tone to a concerning one, something's bothering."

"Just thinking about Edith."

She and Matthew were still coming down from the high of the honeymoon. They had only been married a month. She didn't ever want to come down from it. And yet didn't seem right to be happy around her, enjoying married life. Old Mary would have flaunted it around her. So many conflicting emotions.

_She dodged that old boob. It was for the best. _

_ There she is. _Part of her old self. Is this what it feels like for Matthew? When parts of his previous self, life, it seemed like, came back in flickers like a picture screen. _It's not anywhere near that. When he first came here then. Determined to not let us change him. _

He did loose parts of who he used to be but he was still the same Matthew, as she was still Mary. No matter how many times she'd tell him that, he didn't want to listen. She knew what topics to avoid, to not start an argument. More irritable Matthew. They still never talked about the war. Since it's been over for two, almost three years, there wasn't any need too. A small part of her had hoped that he would, someday. The anniversary of the Armistice was four months away. Last year he didn't do so great with the first anniversary.

"You're worried about her." Matthew was taking amusement in this. He was in truth, touched by it. Rare instances was she ever kind to Edith. "You care about her."

"Maybe. Just a little."

"There's my Mary. My true Mary."

She turned to face him. "What do you mean by that?" not knowing whether or not to be insulted or flattered. It was always something different with him. That was one of the many things she loved about him.

"You always put on a front, but I know the real you. A compassionate, fierce woman. And I have you all to yourself."

"That's sort of the point though, while we're endgulding ourselves, she's locked herself off in a tower like one of those dreaded fairy tales."

"What's so bad about fairytales?" _We're living one aren't we? But even fairy tales don't end with happily ever after. _

"I'm more Homer and Shakespeare, and Greek mythology. You should know Perseus."

"I thought I was the sea monster, and saw him as prince as he truly was."

"That's not how the story goes."But that was exactly how it went. She'd never openly admit it. To Matthew she didn't have to.

He waited for her to say something. Her face scrunched again. It was almost the same expression as when she worried. Only he could tell them apart. It took every bit in him not to laugh. He simply placed his hand on her knee, squeezing it with affection. "I think..." He patted her knee before resting it there again, "Edith can sort this out on her own. She just needs her time and a bit of space. And we should in no way feel guilty of anything."

_But you are. You still feel guilty about the war. _Thinking, Mary slightly frowned up at him.

"We should enjoy every last minute. Only best not do it when she's around." _Speaking of fairy tales, _I never got a chance to carry you across the threshold, or in this case wheel you across the threshold. "

"You haven't been having to use it that often..."

"No, no. Nothing like that. I won't be able to carry you and I want to save my energy."

It took her a moment to get at what he was saying, just a flutter of her eyelashes as she blinked. "Mr. Crawley, when you say those things." She said flirtatiously. She put her gloved hand to his face and leaned in to kiss him.

"How much time do we have before they ring for tea?" She asked, pulling away.

He took out his pocket watch. She didn't know where it had come from or when he had gotten it. Though it was obvious it meant a great deal to him, had a sentimental value. If it still interested her, she'd ask about it later. For now she didn't want to lose this.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes..." He snapped it shut and stuffed it back in his pocket. "Tops."

"They can do without us. We'll have it brought up to bed."

* * *

Sometime later, downstairs, Miss Patmore was making a small cake for Daisy and Edith for their upcoming birthdays. Daisy's was at the end of July, and Edith's was the next week, the beginning of August. Sugar and butter were still rationed, so they had to make due. It would also be a troublesome task because she was not used to the new stove yet.

Tally had pointed this and offered to help. She was the far cry from the shy sixteen year old girl that she was when she started at Downton. She knew how to counteract the elder cook's bite.

"You don't know this stove. You've got to damp it."

Miss Patmore poured the batter into the pan and tried to shoo the girl away. "I've been baking cakes since before half this staff was born. I know what I'm doing." Daisy was hardly going to bake her own cake was she?

Miss Hughes cleared her through and the two looked up.

"Miss Hughes, I just thought, Miss Patmore was looking unwell. I wanted to help."

"I thank you for your concern, but when it comes to the well being of our staff, is between me and Mr Carson."

"Yes." Miss Patmore agreed, now go on. I have it managed here. You must have something better to do than standing there, worrying about me."

"Miss Stevens what became of that mending I gave you? Lady Edith's dress?"

"Oh!" She had nearly forgotten. "I'll be right on it Miss."

Miss Hughes stopped her before she could round

"Miss Stevens, may I remind you, that you are a scullery maid, not a cook. Though I'll allow you to take lessons. I'll perhaps put in a word to Mrs. Crawley's cook."

"Thank you! Ever so kindly."

"Shh...you didn't get the idea from me." She gave a faint smile as shook her head as the girl continued to retreat. She was nearly past the stairs when Lady Mary appeared.

She came down to ask Miss Patmore to bake a cake for Edith's birthday but she saw that discovered that she was already on it. Miss Patmore's words exactly.

"Already on it, My Lady."

What could gift could she give to her sister now without saying that she was trying to hard? She had no idea what Edith liked. Matthew, he would know. They often gave each other records or borrowed them off each other. She'll ask him what band she liked.

Was that how out of touch she and her sister had become? How had she let it get that far, that she had to ask her husband.

"Where is Edith by the way? Have you come across her by chance?"

"Out walking." Tally chimed in. She had stopped to a halt to her destination.

"Walking? In this?" After she had gotten out of bed, after lying with Matthew, she had gone over to the window. A fog had started to creep over the Yorkshire downs. But it wasn't yet thick.

"Yes, milady. She went out after breakfast."

"That long ago? But where?"  
"Just for a walk, that's all she said. Said she felt confined. You can hardly blame her." She turned her head to stove and fought the urge to damp it.

"No, you're right. It's just that I worry."

"Of course you do, milady."

"Well, if she doesn't come back before this fog gets worse, we might have to set out a search party for her." Tally said.

Miss Hughes stated, "Hopefully it won't come to that."

Mary thanked them all and headed up the stairs. She was going out to find her sister. She didn't have to look far. She was in the stables, where she often hid when they were children, to avoid riding lessons.

"I made a stop over to the Drew's place." Edith didn't specify why. "You were worried about me!"

"No I wasn't. Other people might. God, Edith you're being such a child, running off like that."

"I didn't run off. I was going to the Drew's and made it back here before it got worse. I didn't want to go back inside yet because I knew you'd ridicule me."

"I'm not ridiculing you. If it makes me less than an evil she witch, then yes. I do care about you."

The sister's were bonding, mending fences or were they? It was going nowhere to Mary.

"Come on, we should head back before it does get worse. I'm not going to risk smelling like a barn."

"I'm sure Matthew wouldn't mind." Heat rushed to Mary's cheeks. It wasn't from embarrassment. "Where were you this morning, when I went out? How long did it take to notice?"?

"Just a few minutes ago."

"I was gone all morning."

"I was the only one who did. And if Sybil was here, she'd have noticed too." Sybil had left for Dublin the previous morning, to stay with Branson and his family there.

"You'd choose him over me, wouldn't you?"

"What on earth...?" What cockamamee excuse was she sturing up now, just to get a rise out of her? But she knew. She knew what or rather who she meant.

"If it came down to it, if it was me, Sybil or Papa, if you could only save one of us, you'd chose your husband over us."

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it. You never cared about anyone else but yourself and what suited you."

Mary turned around angrily. "Yes, Edith, if it always came down to it, I would always choose Matthew! He's family! And families the reason why I came out here. Family comes first."

"There we are then."

Did they finally come to an agreement on something? Did Edith just trick her?

Before either them could think of anything to say, that wasn't an insult, they could smell burning.

"Do you smell smoke?" Edith craned her head but could not tell the difference between the smoke or fog.

Mary slowly turned her head to Edith, but all she was thinking was, _Matthew!_


	15. July-August 1920

Chapter 15: Cracks and Traces

_July-August 1920_

As Tally went off to do her chores and Miss Patmore, though she felt overheated, sat by the stove and would check it and damp it every so often.

She must have nodded off. Before she knew Daniel was running through the back door, opening the oven. As he took out the cake with oven mitts, Jimmie, Daniel's cousin fanned the smoke.

Daniel set the cake on the table, the edges blackened and the middle sunken in.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Baking?"

"Baking? More like burning the place to the ground." Jimmie shouted.

* * *

"Matthew. Matthew!" She shook his shoulder. He was still where she had left him, in their bed. He had fallen asleep.

His eyes snapped open. Once they found her, he broke into a smile. Didn't he smell it?

"Miss Patmore burnt the cake."

"What..." He sounded like he was half awake. He slowly sat up, leaning back against the pillows.

"Didn't you smell it?"

He shook his head. "I thought it was my dream." He caught the worry in her eyes. "It wasn't a nightmare. I was with the guys, sitting around the bond fire." He still smiled at the fond memory, one of very few they had in a world of hell.

"I thought the house was on fire. Papa told us when we came in." Papa had been worried about where Edith had been.

"We?"

"I went out looking for Edith."

"She still brooding then?"

"We were talking and...I don't know if it fixed things but..." She couldn't hide her worry anymore. If he couldn't smell the burning cake, caught up in his nightmares or memories of war, if the house had been actually on fire... She had worn him out, how would he have gotten himself out if he had? "She told me if it came down to it in the end, I'd always choose you. If something were to happen..."

"If something were to happen, if you were in danger, I would want you to save yourself."

"No. I wouldn't leave you. I'd come back for you."

"I'd just slow you down."

"I wouldn't leave you." She repeated again. "I'd stay with you. Oh, Matthew, you know I couldn't live without you."

"Like Romeo and Juliet." She nodded against his chest. "Mary, if we ever have children, and you're in danger, I'd want you to save yourself and the children first. Promise me..." She raised her head. He knew she was going to protest. "Mary..." He closed his eyes tightly.

"I promise." She laid her head back down and he kissed the top of it.

She wondered if she believed him. That he hadn't had a nightmare. She didn't want to approach it. Right now she just wanted to stay in his arms, where she felt safe. Did he feel safe?

A few nights ago, she had held him after he had awoken, still in the throws of a nightmare. It had been about Patrick. They had just read his letter.

Would he ever be free of them? A little voice answered, _it will always stay with him. _He'd always have the nightmares. But she had discovered that with her by his side they had lessened.

* * *

_August 1920_

They had been married three months and still nothing yet. He wanted to voice his concern to Robert, it would be less uncomfortable than discussing it with his mother.

"I don't think I can give you an heir."

"It's only been a few months." Robert took a pause, 'these things take time. You have been trying?"

"Yes."

"It's still early and as you are newly weds, you're bound to be anxious. And anxiousness can be an enemy to pregnancy."

"That's what my mother said." Matthew gave a smile. She would be thrilled to be a grandmother. But knowing the possibility that he might not be able to give her that, give Robert the heir he needed, the child he and Mary needed...The pain of it was overwhelming. He felt there was an empty hole in his life. He could not think of a life where he and Mary were without children.

"The doctor you've been seeing, what does he say on the matter? He did say that there's a chance. Or has anything changed?" It was evident that he was trying to hide his desperation.

"It will be harder for us. When Mary and I had found out that it was going to be a struggle to have children, but not an impossibility, there was no clear-cut option available in terms of talking about all of this. She tells me it doesn't matter to her. But I know she wants to be a mother." He thought back to when Sybil had sent a letter from her and Tom in Dublin, announcing her pregnancy. She was due in December and would they would be coming back in November.

The news had bothered Mary, though she had expressed how delighted and thrilled, there had been a sense of longing. Or when the time she was at a social gathering with the ladies about her age, already with children, talking about them. He had walked in on it. Mary had to just sit there awkwardly, having nothing to contribute to the conversation.

"I try more than anything to make her laugh as much as possible. I was always good at that, but it seems more important than ever. I also tried to remind the both of us that we could only control what was directly in front of us, so that's all we should worry about at any given time."

"That's the ticket. Stay optimistic, but also take it one step at a time."

Matthew nodded. "I worry about the odds."

"You mustn't do that either. If nothing else...Have you and Mary considered adoption?"

"Yes, of course. That's not all I'm worried about. I don't think I'd make an efficient earl."

"You and Mary have discussed this. I thought..."

"I still have nightmares. I suppose I will always have them. It could have an effect."

"I'm sure that there is no doubt that Mary can handle her share of affairs."

"Yes, but..." Anticipation and frustration coursed through Matthew_. When she is wakened by my nightmares, having to comfort me like an infant, she losses sleep. Compromising us both._ He buried the anger that tried to boil to the surface. He still had bouts of anger or crying, but now he was getting very good at hiding it. Not knowing why was still infuriating. "I have bad days and good days. Bad days, I'm angry or, a bad day like today, I cry or feel like crying. And I don't know why." He didn't even know why he was telling Robert all this. He supposed of all people he would be the only person who'd come close to understanding.

Robert took a moment, considering, choosing the right words to say. "Because every day or year that passes, is a reminder that you're alive. They're not. You're feeling both guilty and happy, and feeling guilty about being happy. That's human."

Matthew didn't know if that could be it. That is was something so simple as that. _To error is human. To war is human. _A war that was still seared in his brain, that will never loosen its grip, just when it's about to, it takes hold again, with its smoke like tendrils, traveling through the crevices like trailing it's way through trenches. "You know one of the most terrifying thing was when they blew the whistle to go over to the top. The first wave went and the second, and the third, had to go through the dying and the dead." He stopped, couldn't continue. He looked down at the pattern of the rug, till the pattern didn't make sense anymore.

"You had to survive and fight for your family. There should be no shame in that. All I ever wanted was happiness for you and my daughter. And if you have to adopt, that child will be loved and cared for as if it were your own." Robert continued before he could start to doubt himself. "You've been an incredible husband to Mary. I have no doubt you'd make an incredible father." Matthew was deeply touched but before he could think of anything else to say, Robert changed the subject. "I know you still have your doubts but you'll be an exceptional earl someday as well. There's no one else I'd rather trust this place too."

"Thanks, Robert. You have so much faith in me." He smiled meekly, thinking that his faith was wasted on him and misplaced.

"I think that in itself is cause for celebration." Robert turned to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses for them, instead of having them brought up.

"And what is the cause for this celebration?" Mary was now standing in the doorway. Her ears must have been burning and if she had known they had been talking about her.

"About how great an Earl I'll be someday." Matthew turned his gaze to her and smiled. Though the smile was false, Mary didn't seem to see through it. She accepted it and joined them for a drink, while Robert discussed the birthday dinner he had planned for Edith.

Which reminded Mary that she had yet to give her sister a gift. Later when she and Matthew were walking back to their rooms, she asked him what type of music Edith liked.

"Anything that I like." Was his response.

"You don't think It'll be trying to hard?"

"No, not at all."

"Or do you think she'd accuse me of it? Being materialistic isn't the way to win someone over."

"I think she'll understand, that you're just trying to be her sister."

* * *

Mary gave Edith her gift before luncheon. It was just her, Mary and Matthew in the sitting room.

"Oh, Mary! Where did you get this?" She was overly excited to wait for an answer. She said she would put it on later. Matthew insisted that she could put it on now.

It took him back to a simpler time. It had mostly been listened to during the war. Mary had been perplexed, thinking she could have liked something newer, as was her usual taste, according to Matthew.

After the birthday dinner, which was mostly spent in silence, (though they did joke about Miss Patmore having burnt the birthday cake) they joined Edith in the drawing room. She was reading a letter.

"What is that you're so glued to?" Mary asked.

"This weeks column. I have to send it in tomorrow."

"What's it about?" Matthew immediately sat down in the arm chair. He would always sit down after entering a room. Mary was quite used to it. She stood beside him, her hand on top of the head rest.

"The poor soldiers. How many of them are reduced to begging on the streets and some officers are working as dance partners in night clubs."

"After the trenches even the Embassy Club must seem an improvement." Matthew said.

"You shouldn't make fun of them!" Edith wore a distasteful expression.

"She forgets that it was you in the trenches, not her." Mary said, patting her husband on her shoulder. "Well, I'll be going of to bed." She whispered in his ear, hinting.

"I'll be a long in a bit."

Edith sat up straight, as she and Matthew were now the only ones in the room, as if waiting for an apology. As his eyes met hers, she found herself shifting her gaze elsewhere, when she saw

"I'm terribly sorry. Sometimes...I thought joking about it would help."

Edith raised her chin for a moment, a jester that said, that's no excuse. And she was right.

"I was thinking of starting a workshop, with your mother, at the old workhouses." She continued. "to help the soldiers build the necessary skills. I wonder if you'd like to tag along some time. Talking to them might..."

"No." He immediately got up from the sofa. "I mustn't keep Mary waiting." He promptly left the room.

* * *

He took Sunday afternoon tea with his mother at Crawley house. It was beginning to become a habit, a routine he was coming to enjoy. He got a sense that she quite enjoyed it compared to taking tea at the Dower House with Cousin Violet. She had become like a grandmotherly like figure to him. Violet had her own soft spot for Matthew. He imagined how that would play out if the three of them ever had tea together. He was smiling about it as he pictured it more clearly, when she came in to join him. Immediately he could sense and aura about her reminiscent of the day she had broken the news that their old neighbor died, two months ago.

No, wait. There was something slightly different. This was a bit deeper. He hopped these teas would often bring bad news.

She wasn't holding a letter or the paper in her hand like she usually did. But she was holding her stationary, and parchment.

"Matthew, I need to have a word with you." She said. As she sat them aside, she sat down opposite of him. Her hand rested on the table, making a slight movement, if she didn't know if she touch his hand.

"Is it serious? It's not bad news?"

"You recall when I was in France with the Red Cross."

"Yes, you volunteered there when Cora got on your nerves when you couldn't decide on how to run things with the convalescence but in truth, mother, we both know it was to be closer to me." He said it lightly like they were talking about the good old times.

"Yes. Everyday I feared that you would end up in the field hospital where I was working or be taken to one where I couldn't reach you."

"I'm doing fine, mother, if you're worried about me." He unfolded a napkin and put it on this lap, taking a biscuit. He examined it. Raisins or blueberries? He liked neither. He set it back down on a seperate napkin so that the crumbs wouldn't get on the table.

"I'm not."

"Well, thanks."

"I only meant that you're doing well."

"I am."

"That wasn't the only reason that I was there. Before you were injured I was staying with my cousin Marguerite."

"I remember you telling me about her once. Her husband died before the start of the war and you've been in contact with her."

"Yes." Isobel nodded, "we've been in correspondence ever since. Remember her son Thomas and his sister Sarah? Tommy is ten years older than you and he has a son about eighteen."

"Yes. You mentioned that as well. How is it we're related to them again?" _She's skating around something. _He was too but he wanted to keep the conversation going so she would get there.

"My mother's sister's side. She was a Roux, Marguerite's maiden name. She married a Werner."

_German. _She had pronounced it with the V. There was shiver in the air and disdain even though rationally he knew he shouldn't feel that way, or think that way. Many Germans had been duped into the war just as their own troops had been.

"They used to live near Alsace Lorraine, near the border. Where they live now is safer."

But that didn't put Matthew at ease. "Did they fight for France?"

"Germany." His mother said. "Many families have fought on opposite sides since the beginning of time, Matthew."

"There's no need to lecture me, mother. I don't feel that way. It's not their fault they got brainwashed into that mess just as our own men. They were fighting in their father's name, as I was mine." He ate in silence. "I'm afraid I'm a little rusty on the family history when it comes to your side. I'd like to know more."

"As you know, my mother was an Elise. She was born in England."

"I always thought she was French."

"Goodness, no. That's where she met your grandfather, John, your father's father. My grandmother wanted her to marry a nice Parisian man. Do you remember her, your great grandmother, Jean-Marie? The two of you were very close."

"No. I don't recall."

"No. I thought not. She died when you were four. She held out her hopes that it would fall to me, that I'd be the one to marry a Frenchman. But she liked your father and absolutely adored you."

Matthew had never met his maternal grandparents, both had died before he was born, his paternal grandfather as well. He had only known his paternal grandmother, Eleanor. That had relationship had always been a tumultuous. Isobel was never good enough for her son. No one would have been good enough but she had been a bit softer on Matthew because he was part of him.

"I hadn't heard from Marguerite since 1917. I just received the news a few days ago. That's when Tommy and his son, Peter were killed." They had both fallen at Passchendaele. Peter had run straight into enemy fire, leading the charge. His father probably ran after him to bring him out but it had been too late. Peter was already dead. Tommy had been severely wounded and taken to hospital but died a week later. She looked up at her son, slowly, hoping to read his expression but he was looking down.

"People are still being claimed by this war, long after it's end." He supposed it would in the several years to come. They were still recovering bodies. He had heard it in the pub. Rumours were floating around that it could take up to three years before they were done. At least for Patrick, his remains had been brought home to them. So many others that would be recovered would go into unmarked graves.

There was a moment of silence, intentional or not.

"I was thinking of taking a trip."

His head shot up. "Not to France?!" It was filled with strong disapproval and equal parts shock. "Why on earth would you want to go back there?"

"She lost her son and grandson Matthew. Sarah lost a brother, and a nephew, and her children an Uncle."

"It's been years. These people...you don't really know them. You don't owe them a thing. " She was going to go to another part of the world, alone, to stay with people that probably didn't really care about her. Things were just starting to go right between them.

"These wounds take a long time to heal." She rested her hand on his. You should know..." He flinched away. "I want to go see their graves, to pay my respects. It's not that I would be alone. You and Mary could come..."

"No. Absolutely not." He was on his feet. "I can't ever go back. At least...not to those places. It's no place for a woman to go...to know of those things. I will not subject Mary to that." _He's frightened._ Isobel thought. _That's why he's objecting. This has nothing to do with Mary, at least probably not entirely._ What was he so afraid of? What did he not want them to know? "I don't doubt that she can handle it, " He was trying not to bit his lower lip, a habit she had broken him of in childhood.

"Some of those places, " She spoke softly to him, "won't look the same. They're starting to rebuild."

"No."

"Many women are going to visit where their loved ones are buried. You can go see your friends."

"I said no." His eyes darkened, his voice matched, menacing. He then saw his mother's expression, the fear and worry in her eyes. He took a step back, as well as mentally.

Calmly he spoke. It was as if a switched had been flipped and her son was back. "Maybe I can talk about it. Someday. I just can't...I can't ever go back." He repeated and left the room.

He's afraid it would set something off. She hadn't thought. She had been focused on how it could help him, not harm him. She wanted to follow him and tell him, tell him what? She found that she couldn't move from her chair.

All Isobel could do was stare at the space he had been, tears trailing down her face. For the first time she felt so lost. She didn't know how to help him, her own child.

* * *

Mary and Matthew took lunch in their rooms that following day, where they had also had breakfast in bed. Matthew had been mostly silent through both meals.

She had recently been thinking about the day he left, six years ago, August of 1914. There had been an awkward silence between them, the day he departed, as they had decided just to be cousins. Then the first time he had come back on leave in 1915 she noticed some changes.

He'd sit in from the fire without saying a word. At dinner he had had this far away look in his eyes, even though he had turned his head away she had seen it, when she had asked him what the war was like. She had been young as foolish then for asking. He had left the next day, after the church service. She had given him that stuffed old dog. She wondered what would have happened if she had done more. If she had told him that she had loved him then, would he not be like this now?

In 1916, there had been a little bit of silence here and there. He had always seemed quite anxious to leave. He had rather been back over there than here, sometimes. He had said. While he was here and so many were still dying.

_"You forgot for one second that it was still going on."_ And that it didn't seem real.

He hadn't explained to her what he had meant by that, maybe that had been he first started to break with reality. She hadn't seen it or hadn't wanted to.

Then in 1917 after his injury, there had just been silence. She had convinced herself that he was still the same man. He still was but there was no denying that sometimes, he was a far cry from the man that he was.

During 1916, they had continued to write as cousins but as the months had gone on, their letters had begun to have deeper meaning. Or they had both imagined it, they had both thought, because of the war? But Matthew had written that he couldn't go on like this, just being friends. That's when he had invited her up to London when he was on leave.

He had gone missing after that for several weeks. Now he was lapsing back into that silence, retreating. He still is missing in a way.

_He always gets this way when something is troubling him. It doesn't mean that it's always the war._

"You've been awfully quiet today." She said as she put a teaspoon of sugar into her mug. Miss Patmore had some left over from the cake. That would mean no sugar till next month. They would have to do without desert.

"My mother and I were talking. She wants to go to France and suggested that you and I join her."

"Why would she want to go there? I know she has relatives there."

"Yes. Relatives of ours died."

"What did you say?"

"No worse than I had to Edith the other day."

She wondered where Edith came into this and a bit disappointed that she hadn't seen it. "Why, what did you do to poor Edith?"

"I said no and stormed out. She and my mother were thinking of using the workhouses for soldiers, to teach them skills to go back into the workforce. I don't know why she would give that up just to go to France. Mother never backs out of her projects. I suppose she thought she was trying to help."

There was a knock at the door and Mary got up to answer. It was Carson.

"Mr. Crawley, your mother wishes to see you."

"Shall I send her away?" Mary asked Matthew, teasing, as she could she that he was inwardly brooding.

"Send her in Carson."

Mary left the two of them alone to talk.

"Matthew about yesterday, I shouldn't have pressured you."

"No, not at all mother. You were only trying to help."

"You're as stubborn as me. You'd rather help people than ask for it yourself."

"I don't need any help, mother. Mary and I are handling it. We're getting through it."

"Are you?"

Matthew slightly glowered over his tea cup. "I know tensions got a little high yesterday. I forgot to ask about the workshop you and Edith were planning, for the soldiers, how willing you were to give that up."

"Ah, yes. And I wasn't going to give that up. I was going to talk to you about that. I won't be going to France."

"Mother, I'm not stopping you from going..."

"I'll write to Marguerite and her family. You were right. I have an obligation to uphold. Obligations should be for the living, not the dead."

"Mother, that's not what I..."

"You could come talk with the soldiers, if you'd want to. When you're ready. If not to help yourself, to help them. It would help boost their morale."

"I'll think about it." In other words mean, he wouldn't.

* * *

As he watched his mother go, he wondered what it was that he was feeling. He felt crowded out of his own mind. These men had suffered more than he could imagine, more than he had. Isn't it self indulgent to continue to think this way, to think about nothing than his own feeling, his own suffering? He had no one to talk to about such things and blunder his way through. He could try to not to feel anything, like before. To feel nothing at all seemed sufficient. Certainly would be less painful. It would be selfish to. To do that to Mary after all they'd been through.

He thought of the list he had made, the promises he had made to himself in order to get better. One of them he had been avoiding. Being around others like him.

He could just listen to them. Just by being their, his presence could help them. His mother probably would tell them about him. He owed it to them.

He took out his army trunk and valise. He hadn't opened them since his return. His belongings had arrived weeks before he had been found, when he was presumed missing. Far as he knew no one had opened it since then. But his uniform had gotten there somehow, eventually. Someone had to have had retrieved his red jacket from it. He couldn't imagine Mary going through these things. Mary had instructed to Miss Hughes to get rid of it. What possibly had gone through her mind, it was the war office telling them he was dead. He had learned this information from the housekeeper herself, when she had returned his belongings to him. "I feared, she was making a mistake. That she'd want them someday. " He hadn't wanted it either, though he sensed that Miss Hughes would make the same statement , he took it.

Since then he had hid it away, without mentioning it to anyone.

His father's service bible rested on top, issued to every service man, even medics. The picture or Mary he had kept between the pages, wasn't there. He had kept two. One in a frame he had kept on his desk in his bunker, probably now buried under rubble. The other he kept in the good book, not just as a bookmark, marking each passage, it was his inspiration to keep going, not just the good word. It was probably blasphemy but God's words of comfort hadn't been enough to keep him going. He wouldn't have gotten out of it on His Word alone. It was thinking of her. It was hearing from Mary in her letters, writing to her, and looking at her picture, hoping to return to her.

It could have fallen out and gone to the bottom of the case, but that would mean he'd have to take out everything.

He set the bible aside. He turned back to the open trunk, hesitating for what seemed like ages. His fingers grazed over the uniform fabric, barely touching it. It was as if he feared it would burst into flames if he touched it if he picked it up or cause a spark and sear his flesh.

He held his breath as he took it out. He unfolded the jacket, only letting out a sharp breath when he saw the state of it. It was more like rags than an uniform. The back of it hang in ribbons from where it had been cut from him. It looked as if it had belonged to a dead man, not to him. He really had been close. He folded it neatly at set it where he had placed the bible. There nothing else but his service revolver. He could feel the corner of his mouth involuntarily pull into a grimace. Disgust at the thing that had taken so many lives. Only he had been responsible.

How could he keep these things, that harbored so much darkness.

He'd pack it all up and never look at it again. That's all he could decide to do at the moment. Still he thought of Mary's picture and her letters.

He still had his valise to check. They could be in there. It felt like a heavy weight, getting heavier by the second every time he went through the contents that tied to the darkest stain in his past. He had to keep going.

His hand wrapped around something thick. Withdrawing them he saw that they were a stack of letters. He untied the string that held them together, taking the one from the top.

_You say you don't want to burden me with the horrors but you mustn't hold back because of me. Why should I be sheltered?_

There was no date on the top but he estimated it had to be about the time he had told her about the rats, how big they were and how the men had used them for target practice when they were bored. He knew she wouldn't be squeamish about it because he had pointed out what a good avid hunter she was.

He smiled but slightly shivered when he pictured them. Crawling over you in the trenches, getting as much sleep as you can, the foul creatures staring at you with their dark beady eyes as if they were waiting for you to die, as they feasted on the men that were already dead. He had left the previous part out of course. It wasn't because he feared that she couldn't handle, even the small things like that, it was still hard to talk about it. It still hurt too much. What would happen if he did? Had lain all of it out in the open, all the horrible things he had done? Would she still be able to look at the same way, love him? She can never know that deepest darkest part of him.

He continued to read.

_I feel the same kind of guilt when I speak of the goings on here at Downton, the dinners and parties in Garden Square, when you're over there, going through all that. Compared to where you are, this must seem like a far off fairyland. I will try to think of you safe and that you will safely return to me, Cousin. But I can't help but imagine with all that noise above your head, that you feel anything but, and it would be hard to rest. How alone you must feel, with that new promotion, demanding more of your time. You have so little time and energy at the end of the day to talk to anyone about the things that matter and I have all of those things, and I choose to talk about parties. I suppose it helps that I'd like to think you're just away and not in the face of danger. I suppose now, in that little bunker of yours, you're as safe as you could ever be._

_I carry your photograph everywhere I go. What I mean by everywhere, I mean at home. I keep it by my bedside. I hide it when mother or Edith come in._

_That was very generous of Sybil, sending the socks, any way she can help the war effort, she does it. And you giving away your extra pair. I am so sorry to hear about your friend. I know you wanted justice for him, but running after that German, Matthew, do be more careful. Don't do anything careless like that again. I won't forget what you said to me last time, but I believe that you will come home. Just have hope. If not for me, for your mother's sake. If there's anyway you can avoid putting yourself in danger, in a situation you have control over, please do so. If my words don't get across to you, even though I had a chance to prevent it in someway and you still do something foolish, I will never forgive myself. Please come back in one piece. Promise me._

_Your darling cousin,_

_Mary._

He set it down without looking at it. Tears threatened to fall. He hadn't come back in one piece. In no way he could have promised...but that wasn't what she had meant. She had wanted him to take precaution and not do anything foolish.

Too much pain and memories. So many things had transpired since then. They had become more than just cousins again. He had suggested that she stop calling him cousin and Captain, a promotion he didn't deserve. It hadn't been handed to him because of his status of future Earl or how many men he had killed, too many of the old ones were dying. A title earned by blood either way.

Would it have been easier, if they had remained cousins? No. They had come this far. They were married and happily so, weren't they? Of course they were. He wouldn't change a thing. One could not live without the other. Out of all the mistakes he had made, Mary was not one of them. Any struggle they could take on together. Even if most of them were his inner battles. He could not take on all his own.

These handwritten words were a testament of that, including how she had stayed by his side, took a vow for better or for worse. Of all the triumphs and obstacles they had so far overcome, the could overcome anything, couldn't they? But she had yet to see the worst. It was a matter of time, how long he could hide it from her.

He tucked the letters back. Maybe he could bring himself to read the rest some other time. He couldn't find her other picture. It was someone else's to cherish now.

Hearing her voice, mesmerised by it, he stood frozen. He wouldn't be able to put it all back in time. Yet a part of him didn't want to. He wanted her to see. See what? That he was doing alright. Everything will be fine after all.

She came into the room, after speaking to Isobel. Well it had been more of an argument. What had she been thinking? Asking Matthew go to France. Mary hadn't been just worried about what it could undo, but what it could do to his health. When the weather got cold it was suggested he stay inside and quarantine him from people who were sick. Chest infections and pneumonia were high risks for paralytics,(even partial ones) and the leading causes of death. _"You should know that. You're a nurse. And you wanted him to go all the way across the world."_

He wasn't expected to live past his forties. He would be lucky to make it to fifty. She wanted to spend much time as she could and cherish it. Whatever time he had left.

What good would come of him traveling all the way to the other side of the world. The part of hell he lived through for three years.

_"Doctors can be wrong. Clarkson was wrong."_ Isobel had said.

Mary wanted to believe that herself.

When she saw the suitcase, lying on the bed, she herself became frozen, looking down at the contents, neatly packed away. "I..." She began choking on her words. It was like seeing a ghost, seeing that suitcase back. "I asked Miss Hughes to get rid of it."

"I'm glad she didn't." He reached out his hand and placed it on her shoulder. She looked up into those impossible blue eyes. For the first time, in a long time, it seemed, she was truly looking at her Matthew. She drew up her hand to touch his face, to see if she hadn't imagined it.

He nodded in response, that said, "_I'm here"._ The lines around his eyes appeared as he smiled. She put her arms around his shoulders and leaned into a deep passionate kiss, as if they had been away from each other for so long. There was something that was also new. A passion, she hadn't known. A strong passionate fire that burned with intensity, underneath her skin. She wondered if he felt it too. "I needed this." He whispered against her. _I'll be alright._ _It'll be alright now. I just need you to love me. "_I need to..." His hand traveled down to her blouse.

"Oh, Matthew!"

He pulled away for a moment, looking into her eyes. And in that moment she saw, or thought she saw them start to dim._ No. Please stay. Come back. Come back_. And for the first time in a long time. He stayed.


	16. September 1920

Edith wasn't sure who else she could talk to about this. She had been there through his recovery as much as Mary, but her younger sister didn't get enough of the credit. Is Sybil hadn't played a crucial part, she'd heard the way she had helped him through it, explained things to him about his injury and encouraged him, and hadn't treated him just as a patient but as a human being. Sybil was still involved with the war effort, finding ways to support the soldiers that were still finding their way back to the world they had left behind and find a place in it again. She would want to invite her sister to help with the workshop but it seemed she had too much time on her hands. She told her about the idea that she and Isobel had set up. She then asked Sybil if it was a good idea for Matthew, to interact with the soldiers.

"It should be encouraged but don't force him. It could be just the thing he needs. But there could also be a set back." She had seen his unraveling before her eyes, or near unraveling. The look he had had when they had brought the soldiers in to the hospital, in 1916, she had noticed the far away, glassy look, she had once seen in her training. But her voice had been able to call Matthew back, that couldn't be said for the patient. Sybil caught her sister's half grimace. "I hope you're not going behind Mary's back about this."

"Does she really have to know?"

"Yes. She is his wife." And his sole caregiver. He would need one the rest of his life but he could do most things for himself now, more than what was thought or expected. She had thought like many others, it wouldn't affect him in this way. But it had. Like so many others that were struggling, to get back the life they had before. It won't be the same for Matthew, for any of them. This was a different world they now lived in. It would be a miracle, if ever, they could find a way to fit in to it and move on.

"Maybe if you talked to him?" Edith implied that maybe he would listen to Sybil.

"Are the two of you talking about me? I thought I heard my ears burning." Matthew approached them.

Edith nudged Sybil gently, in a manner that he couldn't have seen.

"Edith and I have been you put much thought into the workshop?"

"I have."

"It might do some good." Sybil said. "You don't have to volunteer to do anything or talk, just being there will be inspiration enough, not only it would help."

"Edith can give me the information when it's up and running."

Edith smiled brightly. "Will do. Just take your time. When you're ready. There's really no rush."

He gave a polite nod and went on his way. Edith turned to Sybil once he was out of sight, "That went rather well, don't you think?"

"I'm not really sure." Sybil gaze didn't leave the direction he had gone, a hesitation behind her voice.

* * *

_They're not trying to meddle, they're trying to help. Mother didn't put them up to this. They genuinely care._

He told Mary about it as they got into bed that evening. "I was thinking of visiting the soldiers, once they got everything settled."

"That's great darling!"

"Really? Do you really think..." He paused for a moment, "I was able to go through my old things."

"Isn't your mother still going to France?"

"No. She decided she couldn't go back on her word to Edith. All those soldiers. I don't want you hating her over that. She only thought it could help and she was only thinking of her family. She thinks this will be better, that this will be best for me."

"Only I know what's best for you." She said in a cheeky manner. She leaned over and kissed the side of his face.

"Not just her, you know. You're sisters seem to think so. More so Sybil."

"Does she now?"

"She did care for me, you did too, but there was something about her bedside manner and caring nature."

"And I didn't?" She was trying to tease him relentlessly now.

" You know you were, in your own way. She was always hovering over me like a mother hen. She'll be a natural mother."

"Do you think I will be?" This was still hard for them to talk about at times. "I believe it will happen for us Matthew. I can't imagine it not happening."

"Mary, he said that..." It was rare for someone like him to have kids. If they had to adopt, he'd love that child all the same but deep down he'd feel like there was a part of him missing.

"If nothing happens in a few months, at least till the years out, we'll look into adoption." She kissed his again and lied back on her side on the bed, drifting off to sleep.

He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, left alone with his thoughts. For once in a long time, since opening the suitcase, they weren't terrifying or berating thoughts. Maybe life could go back to normal. He found himself watching her sleep. He falls in love with her all over again. He had missed her, which was strange because she had been here all this time. He wants to stroke her hair but doesn't want to wake her.

It reminds him how it feels to sleep next to her and wake up and see her. She trusts him, fully, completely. And for once in a long time, he trusts himself with her. Her sound of her breathing eases him.

The workshop had been set up for a few weeks now before Matthew finally decided to go. It was still rather dark inside even though the building had been fitted with modern lighting.

He couldn't imagine Miss Stevens being in one of these places. Many people had spilled their blood and died in the workhouses, whole families. They weren't just horror stories that you hear.

Turning it into a place of hope seemed like a joke. But if it got these men gain the necessary skills to rejoin the world. It was good thing that his mother was going. She couldn't do anything for him, he didn't need her offers, he was doing more than fine. He and Mary were at a better place than they had ever been. He'd jolt awake from a nightmare here and there, several weeks apart, but he never remembered them anymore. He wouldn't be surprised if they faded away entirely. Someday soon, he hoped.

One soldier, who had been training to be a doctor before the war had broken out, lost not only an arm, but also his wife. She had left him because of the drinking.

"You were a Captain, I take it."

"Yes. The Somme." Right after he had made Captain. _Captain._ He had been in charge of blowing the whistle. He had sent so many men to their deaths, more than he had killed by his own hand. He was responsible. He was to blame...no. He'd only been doing his job. That was in the past.

"Then I don't need to tell you about the demons. We were stepping over the dead pilling them up behind the trenches, watching men bleed to death because there was no time to help. And the smell... it was July. How can I tell my wife that? How can I tell her than watch her suffer from nightmares she ought not to know?"

"You can't but you might let her understand that there are some things better left unsaid."

"It don't work."

Matthew could only nod. He hadn't been in the same boat. Mary never pressured him after he had asked her not to. Though he could agree on the part about the nightmares. "I was injured West of Ypres."

"Just as bad."

Just as great amount of loss. Everyone in his squadron was long dead, shot or taken prisoner by the Germans. He had been the only one left alive, apart from one Lieutenant, they were usually the last one's to go over, sacrificing others before themselves. _That was the past. You can't change the past. This is my way of paying it back._

Mary asked him how it went later that night.

"I don't think I'm going to go back."

"Really? It wasn't that bad was it?" She thought she could sense the tension radiating off him.

"No. I just don't think there's much I can do. Besides, I've got you." He kissed the top of her head as he climbed into bed. _I've got all I need right here. _He only needed her to move on with the times.

Times were changing. It was more evident when Ethel announced that she had turned in her notice. He couldn't believe that she was leaving. Out of all the people who had been with him through this journey, she was one of the few people that had played a bigger part in it. Those lonely first year, wanting no one to talk to no one. During those dark days, she was there, even when she didn't want her. She was a person to lend an ear to, willing to listen, even though he didn't want her to.

Ethel was leaving after being her since the start of the war. She hadn't made any friends here, she hadn't counted on it , there was no one you could trust but yourself. But in a way, she supposed, Mr. Matthew had become one to her. And Tally. _That girl._ She seemed to think that they were, not only because they had taken care of Mr. Matthew when he'd been paralyzed, it was even before then, when the bright-eyed sixteen came to Downton in 1916, filled with silly hopes. The more Ethel tried to be mean to her, the more she seemed to cling.

Now, she and Tally were in the tea room, sitting down eating biscuits. It was late in the evening, Ethel's last night here and she couldn't sleep. She noticed that they hadn't cleared everything away. The biscuits would be stale and the tea cold but it would still be such a waste to throw this all out, with people still starving. She checked to see if anyone was looking, picked one up, about to take a bite when,

"What are you doing?"

She jumped, nearly choking. It was that girl again. She said the Lord's name in vain.

"You're going to hell for that." Tally said, crossing herself.

"Shan't. I don't believe in God." Ethel said through a mouth full.

"I really do hope you change your mind someday. I wouldn't want to see you there, Ethel."

"Man makes his own hell."

"I'll ask again, what do you think you're doing? You could get caught!"

"It's not stealing, if it's all going to go to waste. They won't mind. For Lords and Ladies. It's my last night. I should celebrate like one. Here, try one."

Before they both knew it, they were munching on biscuits, laughing and drinking tea, like real ladies, like they were old chums.

They stopped when they heard a man clear his throat, their eyes wide. They relaxed a bit when they saw it was only Mr. Matthew but they couldn't help but feel ashamed, being caught in such a manner. He must be disappointed. He addressed Tally, as Miss Stevens, could you kindly dismiss yourself for the moment, I need a word with Miss Parks."

"Please don't get her into trouble Mr Crawley. It was both our idea, promise!"

"Who said anything about getting into trouble." He said slyly. The two exchanged smiles. Tally hanging her head in silent thanks, the smile still on her face, ducked out of the room. Taking an empty tray with her if she was asked what she was doing.

"Miss Parks..."

Ethel stood up. "It's my last night and everyone's in bed, I thought...surely it wouldn't hurt..."

He put up his hand to interrupt her, gesturing for her to sit down. When Ethel sat down, albeit, slowly, he said, "I heard you turned in your notice."

"I heard back from a position, a nursing assistant. Your mother and Lord Grantham put in a good word."

"I'm sure they did. Must you be leaving us?"

"You don't need me anymore. Haven't for a long time. I just needed to get my affairs in order. And you have the missus now."

He nodded. "If it doesn't work out, or you need some place to go, you're always welcome back here."


	17. October 1918-1920

_October 1918_

Mary would occasionally watch Matthew sleep, a habit she had she had picked up in the early days and months after he had come home. He had confessed to her one day in 1917 that he had nightmares and she had volunteered to watch him. Since then, when he was moved to a sick room from privacy, she'd quietly check on him unbeknownst to him at night.

One such night she had witnessed him waking from a nightmare. This one was quiet different. He was jarred awake so suddenly that she nearly had jumped out of her skin. But he hadn't been aware of her at first. Slowly he came around, not asking what she was doing there.

He had told her he had dreamed that he was trapped. He often dreamed that he was, when he wasn't seeing their faces. He didn't tell Mary that last bit. "I always feel that."

She assumed that he was still talking about the dream, recalling that he had been buried under debris for hours. She did not ask about it. She let him talk.

"I lost my cool for a while there. I suppose I was concussed." He pulled a slight frown.

"It must have been terrible." He didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to but he continued.

"The whole time I thought the Germans were coming to get me, that I revealed my position, and that was going to be my end. Turned out it was just William. He saved me twice."

"And for that I'll for ever be grateful." She grabbed his hand and this time he didn't flinch away.

"As will I." He fell quiet then, his brow knitted together. "They're saying the war could go on for another year."

"Let's not talk about that now." She interrupted. He squeezed her hand in agreement, or was he doing it to make sure she was real?_ Don't be ridiculous. He's just exhausted._

But this exhaustion was nothing new. Was this what he'd been hiding from her?

The nightmares were becoming worse, she felt, or at least he'd been unable to sleep, since his friend Private Hawkins had come to visit.

He had brought up the war at dinner, how Matthew had saved his life. Before he could go into further detail, Matthew cut him off, excusing himself from the table, that he was not feeling well. Hawkins hadn't meant any harm, she was sure, but her father had been right. It wasn't the place to bring up such things.

She had come to his bedroom later. He had sent Hawkins away, demanding that he leave.

"I don't know why I was ever friends with him. I guess the war hides who people are." His voice sounded a bit distant. The men I was friends with weren't really, at least we wouldn't have been outside the war, apart from Patrick."

"I can't quite picture that."

"Did you have friends growing up or did you drift apart?"

"I was too mean and self absorbed."

"I can quite picture that." She pulled a scowl. "That was my first impression when I first met you. How incredibly wrong I was." His grin was hiding a laugh.

She smiled, having to look away as she felt the flush of warmth rush to her cheeks. "What about you?" She shrugged her shoulders. Clasping her hands together she placed them in her lap. "I'm sure you had all sorts of friends."

"I was bullied." She looked at him, unbelieving. "When I was away at boarding school." He had barley talked to anyone, just in the background, looking for trouble, he knew he'd get away with. An all boys school which had made his encounters with girls awkward later on. He felt his relationship he used to have with the mother had contributed to it. He thought he had felt alone then. He didn't regret his parents sending away, they wanted him to have the best education. The only thing he regretted was not spending more time with his parents, especially his father. It must have been hard, sending their only child away. No where near sending your only child to war. "They called me creepy Crawley."

"They didn't! How ghastly of them. If I were to come across any of them..."

"It doesn't matter now. Most of them are probably dead." Died in the war, or were still dying. He imagined that Lenny Hawkins would have been one such bully. War covers up who you were or who you are. There was an arrogance and pleasure that he had failed to see. He had discovered that Lenny was taking credit for what other men, greater men worth a thousand of him had done. No one else knew the truth, he didn't even confront Hawkins about his discovery. And then Hawkins had the nerve, painted him as a hero, for taking human life.

When Private Lenny Hawkins, (Matthew had called "Yank" affectionately, once upon a time and had caught on with the rest of the regiment) had come to Downton, he had brought with him a reminder of the darkness of Matthew's past, a dark part of himself he'd rather forget.

_Monsters are real. They look just like you and me. Sometimes you are the monster._ What had possessed him to save a person like Lenny Hawkins, a person like that was allowed to survive when so many honorable men, worth a thousand of him had died? If he were to decide now, who lived or died, Matthew thought, he'd be more of a monster than he already was. It was different in war.

"I can't believe we haven't met any of your friends till now." Cora said.

"You haven't met any of them because most of the are dead."

"Matthew here is too modest with himself. He saved as many as he could. He saved me. A hero just as much as his dear batman was. Captain Crawley." He raised his glass, "well, he was left tenant then. He took down some Jerries rather than letting them take me prisoner. One of them wasn't wearing a helmet and..."

"Excuse me. I'm rather not feeling well." Matthew was already making his withdraw from the table. Robert was shouting at Hawkins, that it was inappropriate to bring up at a dinner table and in front of women, "especially my cousin, he's been through a great deal."

He had to get to somewhere private, he could feel the anxiety gripping him like cold icy fingers. Feeling he was not going to make it, he slipped into the linen closet, blissfully big enough to maneuver his chair in and out. He gripped the shelf, breathing deeply in and out, willing himself to calm down. A flood of tears suddenly steamed down his face, his body shaking. As soon as they had come, they suddenly stopped. He had nearly recovered himself when the door squeaked open. He nearly jumped about an inch in his chair.

O'Brien was standing in the doorway, her hands full of linens. Why else would she need to be in here? Unless she had heard him? Her eyes were wide for a moment, as if looking at a ghost. Then the dark brown pools seemed to smooth out.

"My brother had it." She spoke with a voice that sounded foreign. "The shell shock. He was my favorite brother in fact...my only brother. I was his favorite sister. If there's anything Mr. Crawley..."

Miss Hughes cleared her throat, standing behind O'Brien, in the hallway.

"Never mind for now. O'Brien. Thank you." He quickly recovered to cover for her. _There isn't anything. _He wheeled out past them as they made room for him.

"I was asking Mr. Crawley if he needed anything. He seemed a bit exhausted you see..."

"And that is Bates's job, not yours. He would ask if he needed..."

"...I doubt you have an experience in such matters." He heard their voices drift off in the distance.

Mary had gone to check on him, and annoyingly so, Hawkins wanted to as well. She couldn't shake him, deciding it was the best way for him to apologise. The usually all forgiving and charming Matthew, wouldn't accept it.

"What is he doing here? I want him out."

"He came to apologise." Mary began.

"I know I was out of line. I shouldn't have brought it up at dinner like that, Ol' chap." He added in a playful mock accent.

"You're lucky I don't have the authorities come and throw you out. No one else would show you such mercy I am giving you now."

"Matthew, I'm sure he's..."

"He is a liar and fraud, that's what he is. He's taken credit for what other men have done, brave men, worth more than a thousand of you." He directed at Hawkins. "I want you gone. Get out."

"Fair enough. I've already overstayed my welcome."

Now as she lay by his side, he didn't protest that it was inappropriate, running her fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes, the thought of the war and William, and the other ghosts that haunted him, receded from his thoughts. He began to wonder what the future held for them. Would there be any peace?

Later that night the whole estate had lost power. He and Mary had been sitting up by the fire. He wheeled over to where the candles were.

The bunker was plunged into darkness. The light of the candle had flickered out. "Damn. Light a candle, Crawley. Can't see a bloody thing." His second Lieutenant cursed. The table shook. Clark had run into it or it was from the vibration of the continuous shelling.

As Matthew grabbed the candle, he tried not to think of the cold waxy hand, that had been attached to an arm but nothing else, a Saint Christopher's medal, in it's curled fist. The owner's prayer had been answered. He couldn't say the same for himself as the dirt rained down on the roof of the bunker. With the layers of dirt and vibrations it would be any moment that it could collapse. Shuddering, he forced the memory back into the black depths.

He was here. That was then. That was now. The hand is gone. He's gone. The person he had been was dead and buried.

* * *

He was buried under rubble. This would be his grave. He could feel the vibrations of the ground beneath him as the shells exploded. He couldn't quite hear them. He thought he had gone deaf but he was just concussed.

It was hours he lay there before he was found.

He awoke in the dark, almost having pitched himself off the bed, well half his torso. He's in his cot, in the bunker. It had all been a dream. There was still screaming around him. He thought it must be him.

It was some time before he realised that he was home, at Downton, that he hadn't screamed, for no one came pounding on the door to see if he was alright. And yet the cries were still so vivid, so real in his mind, rang in his ears for several minutes.

He rung the bell. He hadn't been asleep for long, he soon discovered. It was nearing nine-thirty. Wanting to sit up for a bit, he asked Bates to get him up and into his chair, telling him to come back in about a half hour. He had a bit of writing to do.

Mary knocked on the door. She was seen in. She saw that Matthew was at his desk, hovering over what she thought could only be 'lawyer business.'

"I'm sorry if I startled you." She said.

"No. Not at all." He half turned, happy to see her. "Coming to check on me twice in one night. What will the others think we're up to?"

"Let them think all they want. The power should be back by morning." She paused for a moment, not sure what to say next. She had to think of something, not wanting to lapse into this dreaded silence again. What was he still doing up? Couldn't he sleep? Perhaps the power outage had reminded him of being alone, in a dark bunker with nothing but candle light. The thought of him writing his many letters to her that way warmed her heart. "You haven't been to bed? Are you ill?"

"No. Quite well."

"I can tell that you're troubled. You've been having nightmares?"

"Once or twice. Not really bad ones." It was a lie. A lie she didn't notice. He had to, constantly lie. Pretending to be someone else was a form of lying wasn't it?

"You never told me what it is you did, in the war. All those secret missions with the Colonel. If there are confidences that you can't break, I'll understand." She would avoid the graphic parts of the war, that seemed to trigger this nervousness in him. But perhaps if he could open up about this, he could start to heal. It would be a start.

"It's not confidences, not exactly. More how you would think of me, what you would think, how you might react."

"You can say anything to me. I won't be shocked."

"You might be." He smiled but he had a bit of uncertainty in his voice. "I know you won't."

* * *

_November 1918_

He was standing! His body was against her, swaying to the music. His cheek pressed against hers, his warmth.

"Matthew! How are you...?"

"Let's just enjoy this moment."

He danced with her, well he more sort of swayed, and kissed her again. It was only a few several cords, his legs buckled, giving way from under him, like they were not there at all.

Where he fell, he was resting against her knees.

"Matthew!"

He tried to get back up but his legs seemed to refuse.

"Stay there. I'll go get help."

Robert ran down the hallways, banging on the doors, "Everyone, girls, you better come quick."

"What is is?" Edith asked frightened, has something happened to Granny?"

They all rushed into the great hall.

"Is it true, what Mary said?" Robert asked.

He tried to stand up but his legs couldn't seem to support him. Robert grabbed his arm, indicating him to stop. "Steady on, dear chap, just lean into me."

Robert and Sybil helped him back in his chair. "You need to take it easy, cousin Matthew." Sybil said, still holding his hand. "You'll tire yourself out...we'll send for Doctor Clarkson."

"Already have I'm afraid." Matthew was almost breathless.

"She's right. Edith, go with Branson to get Clarkson, and cousin Isobel as well. I don't care what they're doing, tell them to come now." Robert bend down beside Matthew. "My dear cap, I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me."

"Well, it's pretty good news for me too."

"It is a miracle, no matter how small."

* * *

"Nothing to do with a miracle I'm afraid, but my own mistake. Every indication led me to believe the spine was transected which would have been incurable."

"But when sir John Coates came to see you, he agreed with you." Robert stated.

"Actually he didn't. He thought it was a case of spinal shock, a bruise to the spine. Which he was also partially correct. It was severe enough to impede the leg mechanism."

"Which would heal." Mary said, hopefully. Dr. Clarkson nodded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"There was no way of being certain without an ex-ray, with the war now over it was possible. He does have a fracture to his spine, but not a complete one as I had feared. It turns out he has an incomplete one."

"What is the difference?" Edith asked.

"The connection to the brain and spinal cord are not completely cut off. Which means over time the patient can regain some feeling and sensation in the legs, along with some minor movement. And he has."

"Does this mean he'll eventually be able to walk?" Robert asked.

"It hard to say at this point."

"But he was standing. We were dancing." Mary protested.

"I believe a rush of adrenaline aided him in standing, what you might have mistaken as dancing, he was holding on to you for support." Mary didn't believe him, "It overwhelmed his system, trying to force himself to stand when his legs couldn't support themselves, especially when the muscles are weak."

"But he will still recover?" Robert's voice had an urgency to it.

"I still don't want to get anyone's hopes up. He still might not be able to regain full use of his legs."

"My darling, boy." Isobel came over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "It's still good news more than any."

"We can discuss things further as they, if they do progress."

He was in the day room the next morning, sitting in his chair with a lap rug and a pillow on his lap. They didn't know why he needed them. Though he had heard that it helps distract people from looking at his legs, he felt that there was another reason. She spotted him over in the corner, book resting open on top of the pillow. He wasn't interested in reading it, he was staring out the window.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Without a word from him, she took it from him.

"Clarkson's right." At his sudden willingness to talk, she glanced up from her page. "That it wasn't a miracle. Bates and I have been practicing, using the bed post to stand."

"Oh darling, that is great! When did you...?"

"I was doing my exercises with Bates about a month ago, I got this feeling, this tingling. Well that wasn't the first time I had felt it. It was the armistice. At first I thought it was nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me? The others, when Clarkson was here?"

"I already told him about that. He said it was a phantom pain, a memory of feeling. But when it happened again, about a week later...it felt more real Mary. I couldn't have possibly imagined it."

"And are you feeling it now?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing. But I could have sworn it was real."

"Darling..." It just wasn't possible, was it? But if he was starting to have feeling, of course it would make sense that he could stand. But the fact that he wasn't feeling it now, had he imagined it?

She didn't believe him. He had to convince her that it had been real, at least to him. "I knew I couldn't have imagined it. Didn't want to believe it."

"You could have said."

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. And I didn't want Clarkson to dash any chance of them or talk down to me that my condition won't change. And I was right."

"He was more wrong than right. We can go see another doctor, get a specialists opinion."

"I don't see the point. He'll tell us no different. I still have no feeling in my legs."

She made a frown. He wasn't making any sense. "I thought..."

"I thought that too. That they were connected. We'll wait on what Clarkson has to say. After that, no more doctors." _No more poking and prodding. _"Standing is all I can do at the moment. I might not be able to do more than that. We just might have to accept it."

But she hadn't wanted to. She wanted to know that this could mean a chance for them. Not wanting to wait on Doctor Clarkson, Mary decided to find a new doctor for Matthew. Dr. Jacobson. He had worked on such cases in the war and agreed to take on Matthew.

They were given the news that would change the course of their lives. The spinal cord indeed had an incomplete transection. The swelling had temporarily hinder the function of his legs. And it took eighteen months for a person with such an injury to regain sensation and or feeling in their legs. Matthew had gained little sensation but no feeling. Mary was worried that it meant he still couldn't have children when she asked the doctor (he wanted Mary to leave the room so that he could discuss it with Matthew but Matthew wanted her there) and he told them there was a possibility that he could have children but that it was rare. Still there was a chance, a slim one but it was a chance. It was as if the universe wanted them to be together. But of course it soon threatened to rip them apart again.

* * *

_December 1918_

A few weeks before her mother's death, they had attended a Christmas Eve church service. The chorus song Silent Night. It had been very moving to Matthew, and had touched him in a way Mary never seen. She had turned to him in concern, seeing the tears well up in his eyes. She asked if he was alright.

"Very much!" And told her of the soldiers, Christmas of 1914, singing this song for a night of truce. _You should have seen it Mary. Although, they went straight back to fighting the next morning._ "I wonder if our Christmas's will ever be the same."

"They will be. One day." She added, not wanting to jinx it. But over the holiday season her mother was taken by the flu and two years later, her sister, in childbirth.

"Maybe now, we can have a little bit of peace."

Their Christmas's wouldn't be much of a joyous celebration till they started a family of their own.

* * *

_May 1919_

It was a nice day with a slight breeze and warmth. The village was holding a fair with music, a live band, for the soldiers in the village. The music was faster and up beat. He would have a hard time dancing to. He'd fall over. Mary protested it didn't seem fair, that he should miss out, she could suggest they play something slow, but he urged her that it would be alright.

He found a bench and parked his chair next to it, watching the people in the distance.

"Excuse me, is there anyone sitting here?" A voice brought him back to the present and he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunshine, to see a woman clad in mourning clothes, her face shrouded in a black veil. She wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. Soldiers were still being found, the missing declared dead. There could be more widows for some time to come. Matthew had a hard time looking at them at times, their melancholy always entered his soul, making him depressed, reminding him of his own mortality. His self doubt hovering to the surface.

The woman moved out of the glare of the sun allowing him a better look at her. She appears to be in her twenties, early thirties, her face pale, and hazel eyes that looked at him with confidence.

"No. Not at all."

She sat down on the bench next to his wheelchair. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. You looked so peaceful with your eyes closed." She was talking to him as if he were a normal person, giving him a fleeting smile, before she was drawn to the children, listening to the live music. "The band, they play very well."

"They're a local group. They play here from time to time." He said. He turned his head so fast, he caught that she was looking at him. Embarrassed he averted his gaze but not before he saw her smile at him again.

She lifted her veil. The freckles didn't distract from her pretty face. He would say she was attractive if his heart didn't belong to Mary.

"Kate Graham."

"Captain Crawley. I mean Matthew. Matthew Crawley." He corrected himself.

They continued a polite and a bit more relaxed conversation about a few minutes, about the music and floral displays but not about the war.

"I've spent rather a lot of time in doors recently. I mean shut in, in my Uncle's parlor, receiving visitors. It's lovely to be out here for a change, in the fresh air, to feel the sun on your face." She said, closing her eyes, breathing it in as she rubbed her arms as if to rub in the warmth of the sunshine. "Well, I must continue on my way, enjoy this lovely day."

"Would you mind if I accompanied you, Mrs. Graham?" He would like the company.

"Yes, I'd like that." She lowered her veil again and stood up from the bench. He wheeled beside her along the pathway, they both commented on the children and their nannies scolding them while the mothers, well dressed, sat on the benches, physically and emotionally detached from them. "I could never be like that." She said.

He tried to decipher her character, what her life was like. Childless. He can tell by the attentive way she observes the them. He knows that longing.

"My husband was killed at Mons. That was last year. I'm here for my cousin. He was gassed there."

She had had her time to grieve. She was looking for a potential replacement. Even if Mary hadn't still wanted him, and this woman did, would she still want him in the end? He couldn't be that. He had to shut this down, that he was spoken for. "I injured my back in France. The Battle of Arras." The battle had lasted from 9th April, 1917 to 17th of May, 1917. He had been injured in March and was still suffering it's effects.

She didn't react with shock or pity. She had probably been a nurse in the war or perhaps too numb to.

"It's been a really difficult recovery. I would have given up if it weren't for my fiancé."

"She's very lucky." She meant it but he also detected a hint of disappointment. "Well, thank you for your company Captain but I must be heading home and face the sorrow once more."

He wanted to reach out to her, tell her that it would pass, even if it were a lie. "Do you wish me to accompany you further?"

"No. Thank you, all the same Captain. My Uncle lives just there." She pointed to a row of houses. "It was lovely meeting you."

In other words, they would not see each other again. A chance meeting of strangers.

At breakfast the next morning, the paper was brought up with his meal. The paper was a few days old but it didn't matter. It'd preoccupy his time. He turned to the advertisement section and came across one that read,

Nurse in need of husband

Soldier must be blind or missing limbs in need of care.

Contact Mrs Graham

227 Broad Street

York

It couldn't be a coincidence. He couldn't be someone's replacement. But he was trying to be, in a different way. The Matthew Crawley that was, would never be again. His marriage to Mary took place on the 5 of June of 1920. Their long awaited happiness.

_October 1920_

Four months is the longest he's been without any episodes or nightmares. He doesn't have to hide. They went out to dinner for the first time, in public. There were some stares but it wasn't uncomfortably so.

He did not believe himself to be the romantic type. He thought himself more quite romantic about ideas, philosophy, law, art, music and a lot of other such things of his interest. She thought him too hard on himself. He was always like that. He was not just romantic in looks. He was so much more to her.

After his second proposal in 1916, they had dinner on the balcony of his hotel room, he had told her, "You and I are the only ones who make sense. I've never been able to talk to anyone the way I talk to you. Isn't that the way it's suppose to be?"

She had nodded, "I should hope so."

His eyes had flickered up to her, just as they did now. Her eyes spoke to him as much as her lips.

Mary found it strange that he was staring at her lips. Then again Matthew Crawley was ever hardly normal. That's what she loved about him. He was like no one else. Anyone in his position would have given up. She was so proud of him. It was hard to imagine that a little over half a year ago, it had still been uncertain how much he would be able to walk, where he was now, how far he had come. The first time he'd been able to stand, it had been early December of 1918. She had caught him in the Great Hall, listening to a record. Miraculously he had stood up from his chair, albeit shaky legs. As he had grabbed onto her, they gradually steadied, clinging to her as they had danced. Seemingly a miracle. Doctor Clarkson had said that it was nothing short of one. That he had been partially wrong in his diagnoses.

Matthew had had secretly been practicing to stand, with Bates's aide, it had all started with the urge he had felt to stand. He had wanted it to be a surprise to Mary. And he had wanted to avoid telling Clarkson about it his initial thought, that it'd been connected to the tingling, in fear of a repeat of before, that Clarkson would say it was all in his head. When he had told Mary after Clarkson's visit the next morning, she had suggested that they go to a specialist. He had his doubts that things wouldn't change, even after when they had gone to a different doctor, Mary having finally convinced him, (she had already arranged an appointment) to a Doctor Jacobson, a specialist in Leeds.

Even then the effort just to stand had been difficult. His upper half had to still compensate though not as much now. It had taken so long to get here. There was still a lot of uncertainties. There had been far too many in his life. But there were many things to be grateful for. He had come this far! Not a lot of paralytics, even partial ones survived very long. He would make the most of it with Mary. He was far from the man that he was the first weeks of his injury, when he had been deeply depressed. He was out of that long dark tunnel.

He still needed the chair whenever he went out or for long distances. He still had to use two sticks but he didn't bring them with him. He'd look less of a fool not having to juggle them around. This was their new normal. And he oddly felt...comfortable with it.

Things were looking bright. But still he felt less of a man in some way. So far he had not been able to give her a child. They could adopt. But then he had thought that due to his condition they might not be allowed to adopt. _Who in their right mind would? _He mentally shakes it away. He knows he should be grateful for what he does have. He could have died. He could walk, had some of his Independence back. It had seemed like a small rock in a large pond, (he had often skimped as a child. His father had taught him on one of their rare fishing trips) before facing his biggest concern.

Then there was still the question of his sexual life, what that would look like. Jacobson had said that it was possible but rare for someone like him to have children. He had had more questions about it, the pacific details on how it could be accomplished, details he couldn't discuss with Mary and had been too embarrassed to ask in front of her. And then if the doctor had read his mind right then and there, the doctor had asked Mary to step out of the room.

_"It might take some experimenting and hard work. There's a good possibility that you can regain sensation sexually, given you already have some of it back in your legs. Although it's still a little to early to tell. First you have to focus on rebuilding your strength in your legs and upper body before we can get you walking." There had been no guarantee what that would look like either, not then. The doctor's prediction on how long it would take had been right. A year or two._

Still that foreboding question hung in the forefront of his mind, though Jacobson had wanted him not to worry about 'the rest' "_When you're married and your wife is patient for a while, things can go very well. I don't think there should be a problem other wise, with you preforming your manly duties. It'll just take time. What happened to you is a shame but I'm certain that you can live a good life, if you're willing to make the psychological adjustments to the limitations you might still have." _

_"Still limited mobility..." _

_"Yes. But I'm optimistic for the best for you."_

"What are you thinking about?" Mary asked him, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing of importance." He finished off his glass, starting at it for a moment.

"Are you sure we're not doing this too early?" She was asking if he was truly ready to be out in a more public place. He had been out to the office on several occasions recently and the workshop that Edith and Isobel had set up for the soldiers. Though he had gone only once. It was his first time in a crowd of people, other than the anniversary of the armistice last year, when he and many others had received their own deserved metals presented by the King. That had been different, he'd been around men like him, men that had lost so much.

"It's not my first time being out like this. And I could care less what they think. I'd rather be here with you than in bed all day." He reached his arm across the table, grabbing hers. At first he had felt like everyone was staring at him. He was humiliated. Also he felt frustrated. Going out anywhere was a huge ordeal. Now, she was here with him. That's all that mattered. _For the first time in a long time, it feels like freedom. It's freeing. So freeing. I'm more social when I'm in my chair because I'm having to think of less things,_ he discovers when he and Mary start talking so freely than they had done before, before he had felt so shut off from the world.

She answered and smiled, the amber fleck present when the smile touched her eyes. Replying enthusiastically. Her Matthew was coming back but only in fragments.

_Not long now before he comes back completely. For far too long he's been a shell of his former self. _

His time being fully paralyzed, and having faced certain death every day for three years, it had made him nicer, a little less prickly but still prickly around the edges. She adores this new vulnerability. He opened up to her about things about his childhood that he had never told her about. She knew that his own mother used to be emotionally void and unavailable as hers but he had always avoided giving the reason why, until now. His mother's own mother had died when she was very young, leaving her father to raise his two children on his own and had been rather distant with her.

"It was obvious her brother was the favored child. Despite all their differences she was only ever close to her brother." Uncle Teddy. He had died in the Boars in 1902, saving his patience, during heavy battle. His brother that had died, ten years before Matthew was born, had been named after his Uncle. There had been more children before him, miscarriages, a stillbirth, and a sick child. He had been the strongest of them all to survive, hardly sick a day in his life. Now look at him. His mother had to deal with yet another sick child, (an adult child but still her child) well hardly, since Mary had taken charge of things, and since they had married. They had hired their own private nurse. Mother still got that chance to baby him whenever she came to visit or when he was visiting at Crawley House. He got the feeling she was trying to make up for something. "Although I think she did love me...does. She probably just didn't know how, until now."

"You two always gave the illusion that you were close."

"We were starting to. When your father so kindly uprooted us from our quaint city of Manchester, wanting to change our lives."

"Oh, is it his fault then?" She said, teasingly.

"It had just been mother and I for so long. After father died." They had gotten used to it. Just the two of them. A family of their own. "You're lucky to have him in your life the way you do. My father was always busy with his surgery but made time to spend with me." There was always a sadness and longing behind his voice when he spoke of his father, Mary always noticed. It stems from not being there when he died.

"Don't be fooled. Papa is almost always tied up with the peerage or the tenants in the village. Appearances aren't everything, darling."

_Don't I know it. _"They both still found a way." He continued. His father had always done what father's do with their sons. Riding a bike, playing cricket. Two of the things he had loved because of his father.

_Things I can no longer do. _

_Focus on what you can do. _Sybil's words echoed in his mind.

He could hardly imagine throwing a cricket ball to his son from the vantage point of a wheelchair. Bonding came in the form of action. A bond between father and son he had with his father, he might not ever have with his own. The image of the boy in his minds eye might as well be a ghost. Ghosts of those who never were sometimes haunted him as much as the ones who had been. Though much less of it now. His father's ghost however, he had never been able to make peace with. He hadn't been there for his father. His father, whom had always been the one there for him. He had been there for his mother after he passed and vise versa but it wasn't the same.. She did nurse him on the rare occasion he had been sick, he had been sent home from boarding school, was always by his side when he'd have nightmares as a boy. But it was his father that had visited him at school. Which was ironic considering he was away at university when his father had been sick, not once coming to see him. His mother had clung to him after that, though he couldn't help but sense that she had been hiding something, that she had blamed him. He loved his mother, who she was now. How could he not forgive her? Life was too short.

"She loved my father dearly but they often disagreed. Maybe...I suppose she was afraid of being loved. Why I was, other than my predicament." She watched him shake his head as if to shake away a thought. "Sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn't it?"

He was trying to shake away the thought of his failed attempts with her, shake away the question if he'd be able to regain full control over it, if he'd truly ever be a man again. He had been able to pleasure her at first on their honeymoon, but a few failed attempt afterwards, it had humiliated him. He had tried not to show it in front of Mary, however patience she was, bless her. It was still early. Jacobson had said. Whatever that had meant. It's going to take some time to get 'him' to wake up. Be inventive. But Matthew was uncomfortable with being inventive, even when Mary was doing things to him and he couldn't feel it. It wouldn't be successful every time. Jacobson had also said. But every time they had tried being successful was far from in-between. He would put sex off of the table, at least for now, and just enjoy the evening.

_There are other ways to love._

But he wanted so very much to give her children. There was another way. He wouldn't give up trying, for her. For now it was too much. _I'm still half a man. In that sense. (can't even keep your own pecker up for long, just enough to please a woman but not long enough to give her your seed. Even they want to run away from ya. Who would want you as a father?) Who's voice is that? _It didn't sound like his. He bit down on the hard bread to silence the dreaded voice at the back of his head, and chased it down with a glass of water, drowning it. _I've accepted my fate. I've accepted._ _Why does it still feel like I'm drowning?_

It felt like an eternity for Mary to respond. "No. It doesn't. I completely understand." She would. She had pushed him away when he had first purposed. " I don't think my parents went through most of their lives loving each other, not right away at least." She hung her head a moment not comfortable of speaking of love. She could not say such things but show her love and devotion to Matthew. She wanted to show him in other ways too. He had been so embarrassed and devastated the last time they had tried to make love. She'd wait till he was ready. There was a lot of waiting in their relationship. There sometimes seemed to be a rift. Sometimes she wondered if it had to do with her dalliance with the Turkish Prince. And if that was sometime the reason behind why Matthew was uncomfortable when they lied together, if he was up to snuff. No man wants to be compared with another man. Then she would tell herself, of course not, you're being ridiculous. That would be the farthest thing from Matthew's mind. He knows it meant nothing. That part of him is taking longer to heal than the rest of him had. What they had didn't have to solely rely on that part of things. She wanted to tell him. She had tried and he wouldn't listen.

_Oh, I wish he's just listen. _

How she wanted to box his ears. But she would wait, when he was ready. Their relationship was more than that. They were so much more. Her and Matthew's relationship was deeper than anything she'd ever known, even the love between her parents. But even they had kept each other at arms length. She didn't want that to become that way for her and Matthew.

"They just did what they thought they had to." They hadn't married for love in the beginning but she and Matthew had. The silence between them at times, she feared they were heading in her parent's direction. Her father had been seeing Lady Sinderby, Rachel Aldridge, her husband had died of the flu too,(she had a son a bit younger than Sybil, who had survived the epidemic) He swears she is just an acquaintance when had been confronted by it at the New Years eve party by Her, Granny, and Aunt Rosamund. It had come to light that Lady Sinderby's family was Jewish, to which her father had replied,

_"Cora's grandfather was Jewish." _He had come over from Poland.

The relationship between her father and Lady Sinderby was to remain a secret. The more Mary had seen them together, when they thought no one was looking, it seemed he was showing that woman more affection than he had with her own mother._ It's been almost a year since she died. Why shouldn't papa be happy? _But that wasn't what this is about. She was going to let her mind get distracted. "I want more than that."

"I know you do..." He grabbed her hands from across the table, but then looked down. "I just haven't figured things out yet, to be a husband, in a sense a husband should." She knew he was referring to that side of things. It infuriated her that he didn't see that wasn't what she meant. _Why can't he see that it doesn't matter?_

He withdrew his hands and went back to his food. When he looked up for a second he saw that her inquiring expression had turned into a frustrated one. He told himself not to further engage. Instead he leaned back without a word. He didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone. She couldn't well storm out and leave him here. He was not about to let the night become spoiled. "How about we go to Annabelle's." It was the dance school in the village, where all the young debutantes had learned to dance. It also held socials for older couples.

"That does sounds like fun. I haven't been there in ages. Mama took me there to learn how to dance, when I was eighteen, after I was engaged to Patrick."

"Dear old Patty."

"I've never heard anyone call him that other than his mother and even then he'd give her hell for it."

"Yes." He smiled, taking a sip of coffee now. He recalled Patrick relaying the story to him, one night in the trenches, in a far off world. It had been an oddly silent one. The silence could be as deadly as the sound of shell blasts. Not knowing what was coming was the worst trap you could fall under. He tried to picture a young Patrick and Mary, along with her sisters, running up and down the stairs and Great Hall of Downton, to outrun Patrick's mother. "He let me call him that and the officers. I suppose it was an army thing." His head turned as if someone was pulling a string. He was starting to get that far away look in his eyes.

She had to pull the string back before he could go away. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

He turned his head back to her, it seemed he was coming out of a daze. "You worry too much about me."

"Where would we be if I didn't?" Mary said with shrug, a warm smile spreading on her face. "Patrick hated dancing."

"Then that settles it! As soon as we finish here."

They didn't end up dancing too long. Only half a song before he got too tired. He told her she could continue dancing if he wanted. "I don't think I can dance anymore." He had said. "Besides you're young and I'm old." He joked.

Mary did a double take at the other patrons on the dance floor. "The men here are as old as my father and they're dancing with girl's Sybil's age."

"Some people are younger than they look." He seemed out of breath as he sat down in his wheelchair, a few meters away. He had to use Mary for guidance since he didn't have his sticks. She was dreadfully worried, almost frightful, that he was having trouble with his breathing.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Mary, if you ask are you sure, one more time..." He said with a laugh between each breath. "Go on..." he gestured with a hand toward the dance floor. "have fun." His breathing gradually turned back to normal, only then did she oblige. She was dancing with an old gentleman about eighty, who had more difficulty than him, it seemed, when a group of service men walked in. One of them asked Mary to dance.

He shouldn't be jealous. He wanted her to have fun. Another soldier in a wheelchair rolled up to him and they started to talk. It was a relieving weight off his shoulders, though they didn't talk about the war. It was a silent oath. After the song ended, the soldier that was dancing with Mary must have asked her for another one, for she shook her head and pointed in his direction. She came over to him and went around to the back of his chair. Her smile turned into a brief frown, a bit annoyed and relieved, hiding it from behind Matthew's chair so he couldn't see. "Ready to go?" She asked him cheerfully, her smile returned.

When they arrived home, they didn't go inside right away. They stayed outside and talked some more.

"It would be easy to say that you are only limited by what you allow yourself to be limited by, however, living in a wheelchair on and off...even after the war, all those who require one," After all they did serving their country, the disabled get treated like garbage, like their sacrifices had meant nothing. "it does have social implications. In the beginning, every one sees you differently, until you show them that you are still you. I will say that often many look past you, as if not to see you."

"I see you."

"You always do. And haven't I always told you that?"

After a moment, he went on,

"I believe the most common glances are an inherent wish to not offend, hurt, or make to feel inadequate the person in the chair. Those who take their 'able-bodiedness' for granted are brought to an uncomfortable juncture when faced with someone confined to a wheelchair. They think or try to imagine how they would feel should they suddenly lose the use of those parts of their bodies that are taken for granted. So, I would have to say that it is due to a mixture of sympathy, empathy, regret, fear, and in some cases perhaps even anger that they feel in response to that type of encounter."

"Do you...did you ever think that I was one of them, that I thought that way about you?"

"No. Never." His kiss is like fire. She doesn't want this to ever end. But she did not know how easily he can rebuke those words, that he's accepted it, that he doesn't think himself worthless, when those claws of depression sink their way into him again, just a year later. She'd be there for him. As she'd always been.

* * *

"Do you remember the day father died?" He was looking out the window, watching the drops roll down it. "It was a day like this one." So many had died in the rain and mud, and the unforgiving shell holes and rat infested trenches. He thinks of the finer luxuries to banish it from him mind. But then feels guilty. Almost as guilty as he had felt on that day.

He had been coming home from Cambridge when he had received the news. He had stared at the window, watching the droplets as the train steamed down the track. He had been finally going home to see his father and he had just then received the telegram. A young woman had walked up to him, "_Telegram for you Mr. Crawley." Imagine a good looking girl approaches you and you think, she has taken interest in you, only to be delivering to you the worst possible news. _The cold loneliness that he had felt revived itself, seeping into his bones. That could just be his injury but he doubted it.

Isobel looked at him solemnly. She was glad that he couldn't see her face, being too preoccupied with his thoughts. What had brought this on?

She watched as he brushed the curtains with the front and back of his hand, as if it were a cat, rubbing it's scent against the fine silk. As a boy, Matthew would always feed the stray cats that would wonder onto their porch, even when they had very little for themselves. Those strays had saved him from being attacked by a dog one day.

That day had struck fear in her, that she was going to loose another child. Then out of nowhere, one by one the cats zoomed, hissing and pouncing with their claws at the unwelcome visitor, who had it's own teeth bared at Matthew. The dog had whimpered and scampered off. Isobel had been sorry then for having ever scolded him for skimming their milk and fish Reginald had worked hard catching.

Matthew was still a little weary and untrustworthy of canines. The thing that had frightened her more than that day, was when he had announced he was going off to war. Even if she had told him about the children she had lost then, it wouldn't have changed his mind. She had to have faith that he'd come through in the end. And he had. But she had only half her son back, not because of his injuries he had sustained, but in his spirit. She felt it. Despite this she had tried to convince herself, he was still her son (he was but not in the way she had known him) that he was wrong, that her son was gone. He had been half right. She would always still love him regardless. She always had. It had taken her husband's death, and many other circumstances to see that. "Yes. I will never forget that day." He did not stir from his position. Their teas seemed to always attract the talk of death, the memories of loved ones.

"Mother, do you still blame me? For his death?"

"What makes you think I..."

"There's something you never told me. What he said. If he said anything."

"He was delirious and in pain, Matthew." He winced at her words. Her tone became soft, apologetic. "He asked for you."

"And I didn't come."

"You were a young man. You couldn't comprehend the severity..."

"Excuses I've been telling myself for years, trying to convince myself of. Was he...was he disappointed in me? I really need to know."

"No. He would never be disappointed in you."

"You would say that even if he was."

"Maybe." She teased, smiling. Then it fell. "I never blamed you Matthew. He would never think that now. He would be so proud of you. Having the strength for what you had to go through. What you're still going through." She reached out her hand. He started to slowly extend his arm across the table but stopped halfway.

"I still ask myself, what if I had died?" He wrapped his hands around the mug in front of him to warm his hands. "If I'd be better off. But I know what the answer is."

"And what is the answer?" Her heart nearly skipped a beat.

He picked up his mug and took a sip before putting it back down. "No. It wouldn't be better." He took another sip and smiled.

He looked better than he had in months, the past few years. But looks can be deceiving. Depressed people still smiled even though they're sad or distressed. It was so hard to tell with Matthew. With anyone. She could ask if she could get Doctor Clarkson to prescribe him something. They had already been down this road. She knows what his answer will be. He wanted his head clear. He had said. He didn't trust himself. It was easy to become addicted. As a son of a doctor and nurse he knew this and at first hand. If soldiers didn't take to drugs and opiates, they took to drink. Matthew had hardly touched a drop after the war, apart from occasional with a meal and a cognac with Robert after dinner. And always with those dreaded cigars. Each soldier had their vice. She'd rather it be the cigars.

"It'd be like killing him all over again."

"Who?"

"I can't give you your son back."

"Matthew, we've been over this..."

He sucked in a breath, running his hands over his thighs. He couldn't feel the motion. _Why can't she understand. Why can't any of them? _Taking his life would not have only left a world of pain for those left behind, and would not only destroy the memory of young William but the memory of Matthew Crawley. "I'm not him."

"I'm sure your father would devise..."

"You're not sure what he wants."

"I know what he wanted. He wanted a life for you. All the hopes and dreams we had for our other children..." Had faded and died with them. "We were so blessed with you."

He turns his head away. _The key being were. Past tense. _"I know." He muttered softly.

"I don't think you do."

"I need to be heading back. I have a big day tomorrow at the office. I got a major overhauling of the books that Robert wants me to look at."

"Do you know what the name Matthew mean?" He stopped in the doorway but didn't turn around. "It means Blessing, Gift from God." She watches his shoulders go slack.

He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Breath on his neck. He wants to hightail it and run but he knows he can't. He couldn't run to save his life. Or anyone's. Even if there had been a German behind him. He had failed to save them. His men, the men he had sent to their deaths. The last few months since opening his old army suitcase and valise he hadn't really thought about it. He wasn't going to loose this battle now.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to turn and face her, embrace her, but he felt if he did, he would crumble.

"You are a gift, Matthew. A gift to your father and I and the people that have come into your life. I doubt there isn't any one of them who's life you haven't touched. Don't ever think you are a burden. Because you are a blessing." She continued.

He wants to put his arms around her, sob into her. But what good would that do? He's not a child. He just stands, leaden. He puts his hand on top of hers and squeezes it, giving her a smile. "I couldn't have done this without any of you. I've been so bloody ungrateful."

"Not unbearably so."

"I'm glad we had this talk."

"Why don't you come and sit for awhile? You've been standing for quite some time."

He went back to sit down. A short time later, Mary came to join them. She talked about King Alexander of Greece was injured by a monkey while walking through the grounds of the Tatoi Palace. They had laughed about it.

"Who expects to be attacked by a monkey?" She had asked.

"It is to expected since they ought to be common in the area. But the statistics are rare." He was going into his lawyer mode. Isobel decided to leave the room and quietly slipped away. You could easily forget how damaged he was, and at the same time you could see how their relationship was heeling him, how she was healing him. It might take years but one day she will have the rest of her son back.

"I had wanted to travel there one day but now I'm not so sure." Mary continued.

She could lighten any mood, just by her presence. At least to Matthew. They continued on talking about the days events and the months events. Leaving out the bad news of course. Lady Sinderby would be coming to dinner later in the week. A few days before her arrival, 9th of October 1920, Lloyd George held a speech at Carnarvon in Wales that his government would never allow Irish home rule, and that the British government would continue to fight to maintain order. This got Tom in a foul mood for the next several days. Matthew knew Tom's limits and that he wouldn't do anything irrational.

At the same dinner Lady Sinderby would be attending, General Strutt would also. The General being against the Irish home rule, seeing them as brutes, Tom had planned to humiliate him by pouring a pot of slop on him, unbeknownst to everyone of course. Anna, Carson, and Miss Hughes had stopped him in time, thanks to a misunderstanding.

By 1922 Tom tells Matthew that he does not believe in types, but in people.

"I no longer sees things only in black and white. I have Sybil to thank for that."

Matthew thought about what he was saying. Those words applied to him also. "I feel the same. If it weren't for Mary, I'd still be seeing things in black and white as well."

"We promised to take on the Crawley sisters together!" Tom patted him on the back. They rest against the bonnet of the car, looking up at the stars. "I always tell Sybie, if she ever feels lost and wishes that her mother was here, I tell her to just look up at the stars and she's not that far behind." He laughed for a moment, thinking it was silly. "Am I barmy or what?"

Matthew didn't think so. "The ones we loose never truly leave us."

They go to work on the car. Matthew pretended to know what Tom was talking about. Tom knew that he didn't but he didn't mind. He enjoyed the company.


	18. October 1920-December 1920

After the strange dinner where Tom came and went with the soup, Matthew went upstairs to turn in, as he often did. He'd stay up for a few hours. Mary went up with him. She even stayed through his routine with Bates. Matthew would take a bath before bed and he needed help in and out of it. It took only one person now, he and Daniel would often alternate. Then he would lay Matthew pajamas out. Matthew still had a thing about people dressing him and he was more than glad when he regained most of his mobility back and could do it himself. Once he was dried off and changed, he wanted to have a word with Tom, to see if he was alright.

"Sybil is probably having a word with him now." Mary replied. She wanted to have this special time with him. Tom was Sybil's husband after all.

"What do you mean?"

"My darling, he wasn't ill. He was obviously up to something. Though no one else noticed."

"Speaking of noticing things, I couldn't help noticing something between your father and Lady Sinderby."

"They've been seeing a lot of each other. Since New Years."

"Why didn't you tell me?" It was loud enough that if someone were to walk by the door they could have heard.

She shushed him. "This is exactly why I don't tell you anything." Or he didn't listen, unless it was about something he was interested in. Typical male. She loved him none the less. "We couldn't be sure."

"We?"

"Granny, Aunt Rosamund and I."

He nodded, his guess confirmed.

"This remains between us."

"Your secret is safe with me." He leaned in and gave her a kiss. "You women make fools of us men." He glanced over to the bedside table where their wedding photo was. "I don't know why you had to chose that one. I look like a fool." In the photo he had his head turned toward her, oblivious to the camera. To her he was looking at her loving, taking no notice of anything else in the world but her. That was what she loved about it.

"But you're my fool." She said gladly. He kissed her again and lied back.

"I want to try." She said after a long moment.

His eyes fluttered over her. "If you want to."

"I want you to want to, too. It won't be as enjoyable." She was already making her way over to him, slinking her arm around him.

He could only think of their last failed attempt.

_"I'm sorry." _He had whispered to her. As she had realised what was happening, he had felt utterly livid.

"_It'll take time to adjust." _She had repeated the doctor's words. He had gotten up and went over to his chair.

_"Maybe I was right the first time. To send you away. Though it had been indecently cruel of me."_

_"What would have been the decent way?"_

_"I didn't think I had the right to ruin your life, Mary. You deserve so much more than I can offer. You need someone wonderful in your life. Someone whole."_

_"You are whole." _She wouldn't listen to his excuses. She had listened to them all. Even long before their marriage. Even when she had told him, after he told her the possible complications. _"_**_I'm not a blessing, Mary." _**He had said. **_"Life with a man in a wheelchair is not a blessing by any means."_**

_"If you were to seek your...attentions elsewhere, I wouldn't fault you."_

_She had been angry and rightfully so. How dare he suggest something like that. She had promised to be faithful to him, to be with him, for better or for worse. She didn't see it as the worst._

_"How could you think I would..."_

_"I don't know what to say to you." He had hardly ever did anymore. But she had put that behind her. There would be other attempts, they just had to keep trying. "Other than I'm sorry." He had added._

_"You have given me the only real love I've ever had. You don't own me an apology."_

_"I'm sorry I can't be more than I am." There were tears in his eyes. She leaned down and kissed him. And he had gently pulled her toward him as she sat on his lap as he had returned her kiss. As he had held her, her hand went down to his trousers, finding what she was looking for (though not able to feel her but the heat of the passion) he had forgotten his lost manhood._

Now, thinking of that memory, he felt desire race through him. There was no question what was happening. Both of them burned with passion, never making love quite like this. She could make him feel like a man again. He felt whole and he was.

* * *

On the 26th of October, the King of Greece, died the night before of septicemia from the monkey bite. Mary had felt guilty for laughing about it.

_"_We have to be able to laugh in the moment." He said. It was his way of telling her that she ought not to feel that way.

"If you say so." She turned away from the rainy window to where he sat. He was staring blankly. She feared that he had gone away. Then she realised, he was. It lasted only a few seconds. As soon as she went over to him, bending down in front of him, he snapped out of it.

"What were you saying, dear?" He asked. He hadn't seen her come over to him. He had lost a few seconds. There had been no warning. Or had it latest longer, and she had just brought him out of it?

"Oh, nothing. Just how devastatingly handsome you are."

"Sorry, I missed that." Y_es, that must be what she said._ Mary had no reason to lie. There was something before that. Something about being able to laugh. They had to back in the trenches or they'd go mad. No, he's come this far, he can't go back again. He doesn't remember what he had seen when he had 'gone away' He had to hide the trace of worry and so he gave her his brightest smile.

"How are things?" He was smiling too big, it seemed. Any bigger it would crack his face. He's...she couldn't put it into words. _How are we, really? _She wanted to ask but he would avoid her question and immediately shut down. They were doing so great. The nightmares were no longer that terrible.

"You mean with us? I'd say great. More than good, actually."

She wasn't buying his cluelessness. "You went away."

"Did I?" He shook his head, playing it off.

"Where did you go off to?"

"Just daydreaming, dear. I think there will be more of it in my old age."

"You're not old yet. And don't distract me."

"I'm your husband, I'm supposed to distract you. Perhaps that's where my mind went." He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap, "Get over here!" He kissed her full on the lips.

"You'll make me untidy." She said, protesting as he started to caress her, running his fingers through the back of her hair.

"So?"

"So? I'll have to straighten up again before dinner."

"I'll straighten you up." He responded flirtatiously. She could hear the grovel in his throat.

"What if someone comes in?"

He nearly had to choke back a laugh. It wasn't like Mary to be nervous like she was new to such things. "My dear, we are married. And it wouldn't be anything Anna hasn't seen. She is married herself you know."

"I know but..."

"But, it would still make for an awkward few days." _I want to ravish you my_ darling! He buried his face in her neck, so that she's feel his stubble, the roughness against her, that she loved so much. She seemed to be pulling away from him. His only connection, his only anchor to the real world. _Please._

He grabbed her wrist as she started to get up. It was so sudden, she almost lost her balance. She turned slowly to look at him. He could feel his eyes moisten. Her expression was peculiar, it bore into him. He must look pathetic.

As she looked back to him, he quickly snapped his head away.

_He was so broken._ _Is. _She could not deny that. She couldn't continue to help him if he didn't talk to her about it. They can't go on like everything is fine when it's not. He can try to fill it with this desire (there had been many times they had failed to make love but last night had been successful and wonderful. _So wonderful._) but they needed to get to the root of the matter. It was like he didn't want to be here at times. He was distracted.

"We need to talk about this."

"What?"

"You know what!"

"I blanked out for a moment. This lawyer brain of mine thinks too much."

"Oh, would you just stop?" She felt like she was scolding a child but it had to be done. "Stop making excuses and just tell me."

"I was just thinking about them." He said, calmly. "We had this saying, we'd find a way to laugh, in spite of everything."

She pictured him in the trenches, talking to his fellows soldiers, joking, to keep themselves from going insane. It did not seem to work for most. _He's not insane. Just broken._ _He's only just starting to mend._

She slowly nodded, apologising. "I'm so sorry. Thank you. For telling me." His eyes flickered up. She leaned forward. He fell into her kiss. They fell into each other.

"I'd like to have dinner up here." He said, pulling away.

"I could join up."

"No. I'm quite tired. I won't be much fun afterwards."

"Alright."

"Could you have Tally bring it up?"

She raised her eyebrow for a fraction of a second before nodding. She sent the girl, well, young woman, she should say now.

Once Mary left the room and Tally had brought up the tray, Matthew apologised to the young maid for his behavior last time. He'd been in a bad place. Last year around Christmas he had shouted at her when he had been in one of his moods. He had demanded Miss Hughes to 'send the insolent girl away'. When he had asked where she was the next morning, Miss Hughes told him she did what he had said for her to do. That wasn't what he had meant and felt frustrated with himself. He asked Miss Hughes to find her and get her back.

_"An Irish orphan in London? It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."_

Tom had gone out to look for her and had found her, though he had never said where. He could only make a horrified guess, the old workhouse. She was back and safe, that's what mattered. Her return had been a welcoming Christmas present for the staff, and for him.

"It's alright, sir." It really was. She felt awkward because she felt he was going to tell her off again. He would never do that. She had caught him in a vulnerable moment and it had ashamed him. She had only left because Miss Hughes had sent her.

"No, it wasn't. If there's anything you need, anything you want me to do for you."

"No thank you, sir."

"You can call me Mr. Matthew, when it's just us." She nodded. "I hope I haven't upset you, that we can't fix things."

"Oh no, it isn't that, sir. Mr. Matthew. I just feel lonely since Ethel left. I have no one to talk to. I haven't got any other friends. Well, I got Daniel but it ain't the same."

It was his turn to nod. He felt a tear stream down his face. He didn't know where it came from. She had noticed and he tried to recover, hiding his embarrassment. "Sorry, I don't know why..."

"You miss your friends too." He could only nod again. "If there's anything you want me to do for you, Mr. Matthew, I'll do it. I do still care for you a great deal."

"Why thanks for that Tally." He raised his glass to her. "You can stay if you like." Tally looked flattered and at the same time uncertain. "Go on, you can sit." Tally hesitates, hovering over the chair and off it again as if the chair cushion was about to catch fire.

"Is there something that's bothering you Tally?"

She uncomfortably sits down. "I'm not used to sitting on such fine furniture, much less given permission." He gave her a glance that said he didn't quite believe it. After a short silence she suddenly burst out, it's about Mr. Molesley."

"Is he ill?"

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. I noticed Christmas before last, he was hovering over the bottles like he needed glasses. But I noticed that he couldn't read. He was embarrassed by it for a while and I told him I could help. I know you two were close and I was wondering if you could prefer any books."

"Yes. I do believe I have some in mind already. I should let you know when I've put a few together."

"Thank you, Mr. Matthew. I really shouldn't stay much longer. Miss Hughes will tan me hide."

"Don't let me keep you then." As the young maid turned to go, Mary was coming back to the room. He called after Tally, addressing her by last name, "oh and Miss Stevens, I might have a book for you later."

"Thanks very much, sir." She curtsied to Mary on her way out.

"Everything alright here?" Mary asked.

"Yes, of course." Matthew replied, beaming far too brightly. Mary knew that smile. He was up to something.

Downstairs, Tally was teased for how much time she'd been up in Mr. Matthew's room by one of the new maids. "He's a married man you know." It was meant as a joke and no malicious intent.

"Everyone knows how sweet on Mr. Matthew she is." Chimed Mrs. Bates.

"Ai, I think of him as a father. Never had one of those as far back as I can remember."

After Tally had left, Matthew informed Mary what Tally had told him in confidence. He didn't want her to go repeating it to anyone; he trusted that she wouldn't.

"Poor ol' mister Molesley." Mary gave a sigh. It seemed that man could never catch a break.

"Poor ol' mister Molesley nothing. I have confidence in the man."

"I was referring to having to drink all that liquor at Christmas when he couldn't tell which was for what."

"Oh, yes, that." He motioned her over to him so that he could give her a kiss. "What would you want for Christmas, Mrs. Crawley?" He asked as they pulled away from each other.

"Hmm. Don't know Mr. Crawley. All I know is what I want right now!" She ruffled his hair, one hand going to his shirt.

* * *

_November 1920_

There was one more month till Christmas, till Sybil and Tom's baby would arrive. Mary hoped that she and Matthew wouldn't be far behind, considering a few weeks ago, she was pretty sure they had made a baby. Matthew had been very confident in it too. Though his interest was more focused toward his niece or nephew. For the moment she looked forward to looking after the baby, taking it for walks in it's little pram, through the trails of fresh autumn leaves. Of course the baby would be a year old by that time next year (and they're own baby could be born by then) and they'd probably have a nanny looking after it but she would spend time as much as she could with her sister's baby. It could help them prepare for their first child. Mary thought.

For the next several weeks her main focus seemed to be babies and love making. Matthew complained about her tiring him out but in actuality he was enjoying the attention. It got his mind off the second anniversary of the armistice. Or at least it did not bother him as it had last year.

"We'll have enough practice before we have our own."

"It'll be quite different. You don't treat your own child the same way. You can hand them back over to their parents when you need a break."

"Are you having any doubts?"

"About what?"

"Having children."

"No! I still think there's a possibility but..." He stopped to ponder. "I want to look into adoption. Just in case."

* * *

_Early December 1920_

They filled out the application at the adoption agency. They only had two girls available. One of them had a daisy attached to the cot. It was to identify the recently orphaned. The other child, about nine months old didn't have a daisy. She had been at the agency for that long. Her mother had been too young and unwed. Matthew had immediately focused his sights on her. Mary told him that they could wait till they had boys. He replied that they could always adopt a boy next. He just couldn't leave this child, he thought as he held her. She barley squirmed or cried while she sat on his lap. He couldn't feel her as she climbed and bounced on his legs, his arms wrapped around her. As she sat on his lap, resting against his abdomen, he could feel her warmth. She turned her head back and forth, looking up at him. He turned her to face him, the infant looking up at him with wander and content, blue eyes meeting blue. It was like she was saying,_ take me home. _Something about it felt right.

He turned his attention toward the other little girl at the other end of the room. He'd adopt both of them if he could. Though he kept that thought to himself.

They weren't the only couple there. There was a soldier and his wife, hovered over the cot with the daisy. Mary briefly noticed his attention drifting toward the man in uniform. _Why did they still wear them when they came home? _Mary wondered. The war was long over but there were some who still served in the army as a living. It was perhaps all they knew. Thinking nothing of him being distracted, she patted his shoulder, while the social worker asked to speak with her.

The atmosphere changed when Mary and Matthew returned home. Either of them barley said a word.

"How'd it go with the adoption agency?" Robert seemed the only one bold enough to ask or he was oblivious.

"The application fell through." Mary blurred out when she could barley contain it.

"What? So soon? How is that possible?"

"They only had girls anyway." Matthew said, as if it hadn't phased him.

"There's plenty of other agencies." Robert began but Matthew was already exiting the room.

"It isn't because Matthew is in a wheelchair?" Edith prompted.

"Not the majority of the problem." Mary said. "We weren't the only couple there. There was a soldier and his wife. Matthew saw them and he must have blanked out. It was only for a moment. I didn't think much of it at first, then the social worker called me into the room. I think I made things worse when I let her have it. I asked her how did she know that the soldier didn't have nightmares. She asked me if Matthew did and I said, not as much as he used to. She still denied us."

"What? That isn't fair. Surely, that can't be legal." Mary wasn't expecting Edith to come to her defense. Alright, maybe it was more for Matthew's sake. "After all Matthew has been through." _Point proven. "_You and Matthew have been trying so hard. They can't do that."

Sybil, who had seemed to have been holding her breath since they had come in, finally let it out, "Unfortunately. They can."

"I ruined things for us." Mary said, trying not to fall into despair, more towards how Matthew would take this. "I always ruin everything."

"No. You didn't. You didn't ruin this." Her father tried to soften the blow but it was no use.

"You don't always. You did the best that you could." Her youngest sister's reply helped very little. Shortly after Sybil had left the room, Robert dismissed Edith so that he could talk to Mary alone. Edith was clearly disappointed but respectful. When they had the room to themselves, Robert angrily said that he would deal with them. That he would have their licenses.

"Oh, please, papa, leave it." Mary said, her anger nearly matching. Her father was taken aback, appalled that this didn't bother her. "I've missed this month." She always had her cycle at the start of each month, unless she was a week off. Her father's eyes when big for a moment, mixed with embarrassment that she'd speak of such things with him. It was quickly replaced with joy.

"My darling girl, are you sure?"

She began fiddling with her necklace as always when she was nervous or something deeply troubling her. "I don't want to tell Matthew yet. It's far too early to be entirely sure." She would never forgive herself if something happened to it after, if she told him. Nothing was certain.

He pulled her into a hug. "I won't say a word."

* * *

One of the worst days of his life had been the early days after he had come home in 1917. Clarkson informed him of the complications, of the so many things that could kill him, and the conditions of his injury.

"You are aware how sexual reproduction works? The sexual function is controlled below the waist, so is the ability to relieve one's self. Meaning you won't have control over your bladder."

"I see." He had went blank for a few seconds there, he must have had. That had been the finale ripping away of his manhood. He couldn't bare the thought of anyone changing him, certainly not Mary. It was just too much.

"The catheter will take care of the rest. " Was what he heard Clarkson say next. "You'd need to be flushed out, at least two times a day." He then responded to Matthew's quizzical look. "An enema."

Matthew closed his eyes and gave a nod, knowing what an enema was. He had never felt more humiliated, not for himself but for those who would have to care for him. He couldn't tie Mary or anyone to such grueling existence. That was the day he finally decided to let her go.

Sybil had come with the instruments for the procedure. His eyes widened, catching hers.

"Nurse Crawley won't be the one to carry it out. Since she's family I think that would be highly inappropriate."

Relief washed through Matthew. At least he was spared that humiliation but a part of him wanted her to stay. She had been there for him in ways that Mary hadn't, had treated him like a human being when the others of the medical staff had treated him like he was less than.

She must have sensed it for she said, "I'll be around the corner if you need me." She stepped out, pulling the certain closed.

"Nurse Anderson will be assisting me today." The doctor started to sound far away. The rest of it went by in a blur. He vaguely recalled the sensation of floating, that could have been the paralysis, as they turned him over.

He had held it all in until Mary had come to visit him shortly after. His voice kept breaking as he told her they could no longer be together. It wasn't his incontinence or the loss of his manhood. It was killing him to say goodbye to the woman he loved. There would never be anyone else. She would end up hating him. He could give her nothing. He had the courage to tell her that they couldn't be lovers but could not tell her that he would shit and piss himself the rest of his life and have people change him like he was an infant. He'd at least spare her that detail. He couldn't, wouldn't subject her to a life like that. She should be able to enjoy life, not be stuck with a husband that would depend on her for everything, even the simplest of tasks. He might not even live that long. He wouldn't want to make her a widow early either. It was better this way.

Since then he had regained some of his continence, not having to used the catheter anymore, since the first year and a half of recovering. But he would still have the occasional accident, which he could take care of himself.

When he had finally gathered the courage to tell her about it, before they were married, she had offered that she would help him. He had been stern with her that she would never change him. He didn't have to worry about that anymore. He could do that himself now. Had he still tied her to this life that he had tried to save her from? No. He didn't regret marrying her. But he still felt like he had let her down. Had they hoped too much?

When he had sent her away, everything had gone blank. The next thing he had known was that it was night. His thoughts came back to him once more, remembering he was paralyzed, thinking about his whole ordeal, the half life he would live. Not an existence he was prepared for. A life time of humiliation and pain. Alone with his thoughts, he had begun to wonder if things would be better if he had died. He didn't have to rethink the answer. He had wished he was dead. He had turned his head toward the light of the candle on the nightstand beside the bed. The flicker of the flame glinted off something shiny. Someone had left a letter opener there. It was like it was calling his name. He could grab it, slit his wrists. He'd be gone by the time they found him in the morning.

Who would find him? What if it was mother or Mary? He couldn't do that to them, allow them to witness that horrific sight. He had pictured the blood dripping on the floor, the imagine starting to turn into a blood filled rain mixed with flesh. He had managed to keep them at bay when he had heard the cheerful, calm voices, one of them Sybil's. She would have been the one to have found him if he had carried through with it, maybe even saved him. He couldn't be saved, he had thought, no matter how any of them tried, no matter how Mary tried.

He had thought the concept of letting her go had been the worst, the thought of killing himself, then feeling guilty to ever have thought about it. Being denied able to adopt, this was the worst of all. Now, he began to mourn for the children that will never be. He's got his life, his loving wife. That should be enough.

He heard the door squeak open. He expected it to be Mary but it was Sybil. He made no attempt to wipe his tears, to hide them. Sybil had seen him at his worst, during his bouts of unexplained tears or when Clarkson had explained things she had been there for support.

"I wanted her so bad." He gave a weak smile. He could use her wise words now. "I don't know if there will ever be a chance for Mary and I."

"There will." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. I believe in God but... " He wasn't listening closely to the rest of her words, until, "I want the baby to be Catholic."

It took him by surprise, at first because he wondered why she was telling him this, then he teased what Robert would think. They both laughed.

Sybil suddenly stopped, wincing.

"Are you alright? Is it the baby?"

"Just kicking up a storm. I think he or she might be a rugby player."

"Or a journalist or a lawyer." He said playfully, a little bit of hope that he or she would be more like their Uncle than her Aunt. "Can I?" He nodded awkwardly to her stomach.

"You don't have to." He didn't have to torture himself.

"I want to." But when he made no move, she took his hand and placed it on the side of her abdomen. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine it was his baby he was trying to feel for. At first he wasn't feeling anything. He sent positive thoughts to his niece or nephew. _I will love you like my own. _Then suddenly he could feel the slight kick, marveling at it. "Does it hurt?"

"No." She had to keep herself from laughing. "There's just enough room for baby." She ran her hands over her stomach, looking down at it, where her child still grew within, "although, it is getting a bit tight."

"He or she will have the best Uncle ever."

"Only because you'll be the only Uncle." She was having him on now, before she said reassuringly, "You and Mary will make remarkable parents one day."

One day, not someday. He wondered if it was still foolish to hope.

* * *

The twentieth of December was one of the worst days of Mary's life. The blizzard had come through the village of Yorkshire like a bad omen. When it had appeared that the worst of the storm had passed, they went out to see a show at the theatre. They couldn't get Matthew out with the snow on the ground, not to mention he develop a cold. It got his spirits down that he couldn't go out, discovering that he would be a shut in during the cold long winters. They were the hardest on him, psychically. His legs would stiffen and they would be hard to move when they got too cold, even though he couldn't feel it. It was like lugging around heavy sticks. He had explained to her. Hopefully that would ease with time. They would try to keep the fireplaces lit in every room he had frequented, to keep the house warm, but it was a daunting task. But this particular day, it was warm enough in the house. He could move around just fine. That didn't stop her from worrying. The longer sat through the show, she had a growing sense that something was wrong. She felt it in the pit of her stomach. A cold, hard lump. The same feeling she had gotten when Matthew had been declared missing in action. But somehow this was different. _It's not him. Then it must be..._

_Sybil._

Maybe she had gone into labor. What if there were complications and Matthew couldn't get through to anyone or couldn't get to Sybil? What if his legs were stiff or were to suddenly gave out? She had to get to a phone, call Clarkson, then the house, before the weather got worse and she was trapped here.

Just as she expected, she herself couldn't get through to anyone. She could only pray in this dire need, that he had already or was calling for help.

She still had to get to them. It was fruitless to have even tried the phone. She had wasted what could have been precious time. They should have never gone out.

_The calm before the storm._

_You're a storm braver than I ever saw one. _Matthew's words rung in her head. It made her stronger in that moment. She wasn't going to be trapped here and she wasn't going to let anyone stop her.

She hadn't noticed his distress as he rested on the bottom of the stairs. His legs probably couldn't carry him back up them and he had come to rest there. He seemed fine, not like he had fallen. Her main concern now was her sister. He'd be fine. Anna was with him. She had to get to Sybil. The rest of their party arrived shortly after.

The family, minus Matthew, went to be with her. All they could do was stand by, while Clarkson worked, taking in the horrid scene. The bed seemed saturated with blood.

Clarkson delivered the baby safety. He couldn't save both her and the baby. There was nothing he could have done for Sybil. She had hemorrhaged to death three hours after giving birth. Mary had been the one to discover her. Tom looked as if someone had ripped his heart out, thrown it on the floor and stomped on it. Robert stood still, in blank disbelief. He had lost his wife and now his youngest daughter. Just with-in a year of each other.

Slowly she made her way down the halls, like a machine and not a human being. She felt disconnected from everything, from herself. Is this how Matthew had felt, after waking from the nightmares of war, of all the death and dying? Seeing the blood.

Her sister was dead. Matthew had been with her, unable to help her. It wasn't rational to blame him but part of her wanted to. Her glances at him must have showed it.

It was her blame that caused this downward spiral, she had thought at first, it made him feel guilty. She had partially been right.

"The stress caused a relapse." Dr. Clarkson told Mary and Robert. "And he was forcing his body to do something it can't quite no longer do. It overwhelmed his system."

"He will get back to where he was?" Mary wondered, full of worry, a bit of weariness from her grief.

"Yes. It might take a few days. But for right now he's almost completely lacking mobility in the lower extremities. Once his nerves have settled, everything else will have settled."

"What do you mean by that?" Robert's eyes hooded. How was it possible that Sybil's death had affected him more than him, her own father? _His nerves, that's another term for_... But he was better now, surely. And this was just a shock to his system like Clarkson said.

Clarkson didn't answer Lord Grantham. When he had checked on Matthew, after he had been brought up to his room, after Clarkson had assisted Sybil) the young man hadn't been aware of his presence, unresponsive. He doubted that anything would have changed. He wanted to look as if though he was doing something as not to alarm them. "I'll go check on him now to see how things have progressed."

"I'll come with you." Mary said.

"Lady Mary, it might be distressing for you."

"I can handle it. As I told you before, when he was first injured." Doctor Clarkson wasn't convinced. "I'll stay out of your way."

"She needs to go be with her husband." Robert stood by his daughter.

Clarkson nodded and went into the dressing room. Mary stayed by the door.

Matthew was lying on the bed, inert, his eyes expressionless, unfocused like before, she noticed as she got a bit closer, after he had been informed of his spinal injury, after he had pushed her away. Hours, days, almost two months, he had laid in that catatonic state. How long would he be away now? _Don't go away, please._

"Mr. Crawley, can you hear me? It's Doctor Clarkson."

"What do you want with me?" He grumbled in frustration.

Doctor Clarkson wasn't too quick to make any assumptions that he was yet fully back with them. "I came to check on you, as I said I would." He cracked a friendly smile to indicated to his patient that he was in a safe place.

"I went back there. I was back." He had been sure of it. He didn't know where he was. It was Clarkson's voice. He can't understand or remember what's happened but _if Clarkson is here_, _that must mean...Mary. She must be here. _Unless this was a dream and he had never come home at all. It was hard to think. It was still so loud, he could hear the shells and gun fire, smell it. It slowly faded. _Far__ off now._ _Should be safe._ He wanted to get up so that he could see where he was but it seemed he didn't have any energy to move. Instead he decided to lie still, reserve his strength.

"It's alright. You're not now. You're here."

"Where's here?" His voice filled with uncertainty, cracked slightly. He couldn't be. He couldn't be at Downton. He had to hear it, to make sure it was real.

"You're safe. You're here at Downton."

"I wasn't?" It had been so real.

"No."

Of course he hadn't been. It all came back to him. It feels as if it had just happened. It was fresh in his mind. They all died, just mere seconds ago. He hadn't been able to save them. It had been so real.

"I saw...There was so much...I couldn't help." His voice is almost a whisper but was loud enough for Mary and Robert to hear.

There was no way of knowing if he was talking about Sybil or what he had experienced on the battlefield. It was best just to go along. "But you did. You did very well." Clarkson said.

_How could he think he had been back there? _Mary asked herself, horrified. Matthew's eyes found her. There was something in them, she couldn't explain it. They looked more...haunted. Yes, that was it, more haunted than she had ever seen them, looking upon her if it were she that were the ghost. What was wrong with him? She saw his eyes start to gloss over again. He couldn't do this to her, not again.

_He isn't doing this on purpose._ She scolded herself. _He's ill. But the way he looked at me. He's angry because he thinks I blame him for Sybil._ _No_. She can't get that glazed stare out of her head. _He wasn't really looking at me. There's no way of knowing what he is really seeing, if he is seeing anything at all._

Clarkson stepped out into the hall. Maybe he can explain it.

He sees her, what could be Mary, before he's called back again.

"What...what was that?" Robert asked. Mary stayed where she was. Unsure of what she could do.

"That." Dr. Clarkson paused for a moment, he had hoped he had been wrong, that he could delay the inevitable, "was shell shock."

"It's been two years since the war." Robert began, puzzled. He had only ever witnessed it once. That had been in 1919 on the anniversary of the armistice. _Surely not, not now._

"Shell shock is still a relatively new field." As Clarkson said it, a wave of fresh grief washed over Robert, even guilt that he was more worried about his son in-law than his daughter, that had just died. "We don't know for certain what causes it, why it affects the mind differently than others. How long the effects will last."

"You were sure he didn't have it." Mary was confused and becoming angry.

"Some soldiers are better at hiding it."

"He isn't a soldier anymore!" Her anger boiled over, masking her pain.

"Lady Mary, I must have you refrain from shouting. It could further worsen your husband's current state."

Her father gently squeezed her shoulders, trying to calm her. It worked. "Yes. Sorry."

"I think the shell shock also contributed to his current condition. Why his legs suddenly gave out."

"You think this is all in his head?" Mary asked.

"Partially. Emotions affect one's health, we now know that. I believe they have an effect on one's mental health as well."

"How do we help him?" Mary had desperation in her voice.

"Is there anything we can do?" Robert asked.

"He needs to be surrounded by people who care about him. He needs all the positive support he can get. That's the best thing for the road to recovery. We'll need to find out what his triggers are, how to asses them, try to avoid them, if we can and to help him cope. I would like to keep a close eye on him for tonight. I would move him to the hospital for observation but with the roads..."

"Of course. I'll have Carson prepare a room for you." Her father was saying to Clarkson.

"Thank you." Clarkson said.

"Why would he need to be put under observation?" Mary questioned.

"A precaution, to make sure he's not a danger to himself or others. If it worse than it is, he may have to undergo treatment, which I hope doesn't happen. I'll try everything in my power to make sure it doesn't come to that." He had been studying cases that were way worse than Matthew, some who had no faculties about them at all. He had witnessed the brutality and inhumanity of how the patients were treated. He believed that they were sick just as any other psychically ill person. It had made him psychically ill. The distressing event of Lady Sybil's death had been a shock to his entire system, including his mind. If they kept the stress to a minimum he prayed that it would get back to normal, that this current state of his mind would subside by morning.

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson." Mary waited till they all left.

She went into his dressing room, lying next to him. She whispered in his ear, softly, _"_Please_, _come back to me, my darling." He didn't respond. Was he even still in there? Was he afraid and was avoiding her? He didn't even re-act when she touched his hair and stroked his face. She slid off the bed and went downstairs.

A half hour later, she heard the cries of distress. They only seemed to get louder. _Matthew!_ It sounded as if he was in agonizing pain. She made her way to the dressing room, utterly frightened at what she saw. Thomas was holding Matthew down, who was thrashing about as much as he could. O'Brien was on the other side of him, trying to calm him.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Mary tried to hide the panic in her voice. She already knew. He was re-living it all over again. She shouldn't have left him.

"Mr. Barrow, if you please, this is no longer a request." Dr. Clarkson was growing impatient.

Thomas relinquished his grip. Matthew sat up, grabbing him by the shirt.

"Don't leave...in case they come back...Cover me. My gun won't work..." It's almost a plea. He puts a hand to cheek and makes a motion as if to wipe something off his face.

_Dirt, mud or blood, _Mary morbidly thinks.

Then he grabs Thomas with both hands again, shouting, "you bloody coward."

Thomas stiffens in his grip and stares back at Matthew's own frightened eyes. No one notices, or so he thinks, apart from Mary. Matthew lets go of him and slowly lies back.

"Why is he talking like that?" Mary was still frantic. She had lost her sister. It felt like he was dying as well. When he'd been thrashing around it had been like he was having some sort of fit.

"He's just having a nightmare." Clarkson stated. He went around to the end of the bed. "Mr. Crawley."

"No." He flinches as Dr. Clarkson touches his foot. The movement is not because he can feel it. There would be no feeling there. He's looking at Clarkson as if he's seeing someone else. "Don't send me back."

"No one is going to send you back. It's alright. You're home. Here. Safe. You just had a bad dream."

Mary shook her head, sensing that something was wrong. As she got a better glance she could see that his eyes were open, and they were looking directly at her. "But he isn't sleeping. He's awake." She was almost begging him, to do something, anything to help him.

"Sometimes the nightmares can bleed into reality." Mary knew this but it would usually dissipate. "It's best if somebody close to him tries to talk to him, tries to calm him."

Mary nods, going over to his side, "Matthew. It's me, Mary."

He relaxes a bit. His eyes dart around the room before finding her. She smiles at him but she quickly realises that he's not there. The normal expression he would have, between sleep and waking from the horrible images that his mind still clung to, wasn't there. Instead of the cloudy, glazed look, his pupils were huge, his eyes still darting around like a madman's.

He can't be losing his mind. Not now. Not her Matthew. Could it be a fever making him see things? She wanted to correct Clarkson, that this might be something more but she didn't have time to argue.

It should be subsiding. Why isn't it subsiding. She doesn't know what she would do if her presence, her calming voice no longer could bring him out of it.

He turns his head to one side, "I smell burning."

"I don't smell anything." Mary desperately looks at doctor Clarkson, "What does that mean? That can't mean anything good, can it?"

"Phantom smells could be a sign of a sinus infection. Nothing too serious. We should keep a close eye on..."

"Mary." He seems to be coming back to reality. His voice was pained as well as filled with panic.

She grabs his hand. "I'm here."

"No." He suddenly closes his eyes tightly.

"This isn't the shell shock. Something's wrong, Doctor Clarkson. Look at him. Can't you do something? He's in...pain." She choked on the last word as if she was feeling it herself.

"He is a bit warm. I can give him a Acriflavine and a sedative but first I'd need someone to go fetch me a torch so I can do a further examination."

Carson leaves to go grab one and comes back shortly. Matthew was calm but his breathing was still heavy. His eyes fixed on an empty space, at something only he could see. Clarkson shines the light in Matthew's eyes. "His pupils are dilated. This isn't a nightmare. He's hallucinating. He's taken something."

"Matthew." Mary tries to get his attention.

He turned his head away from her, shaking it back and forth, "No. No. No. No." He said, over and over, curling up, trying to cover his ears.

"Matthew what did you take? Tell Doctor Clarkson what you took."

His eyes slowly found Thomas. She lost it then. She had never liked him or even trusted him. Making trouble for everyone downstairs. Why hadn't he been thrown out by now? Sybil had been far too trusting of him. This is how he repays her kindness? She didn't care if he had meant good intentions. He had put her husbands life in danger. Before she knew it she had the footman almost backed up against the wall. "What did you give him?"

"I..I was only trying to help. He wanted something to help him sleep."

"You best hope when Mr. Crawley recovers he confirms your story."

* * *

Carson had a word with Thomas. Wondering what he was doing wandering around the houses so late.

"I was going to check on him, when I heard him."

The butler turned to O'Brien. "I was tending to Lady Edith."

"Daisy?"

"I went to start the fire for Mr. Crawley. I thought he'd be cold."

"Never mind all that now." Miss Hughes stepped in. "If it weren't for Daisy, things probably could have had a drastically different outcome."

"I'd say." Mary had entered the servants hall. She thanked Daisy, honorably. "Carson, can I have a word with you a moment?"

They went into his office.

"I don't doubt that Mr. Barrow had good intentions." Carson said. "But it is up to you if you want to press charges or not."

* * *

Downtown was paralyzed by the death of Sybil. Everything, including everyone, seemed to stop, even the servants. Carson and Miss Hughes had a silent breakfast, commanding none of them to speak. It wasn't an issue however, none of them could say anything at all.

The sweetest soul of Downton was gone. That's what most have thought of her. Including Matthew. He thought of himself to be a kind, caring man, not passing judgment on any one, a gentlemen, before the war. But now? Was he still a good man? He had left him there. _No._ _I left to get help._ The other man, he had deserted them. If that man was ever caught, he'd be court marshalled, imprisoned or shot. No one deserved that.

Then a flash of memory. He puts his hand to his face, as if to stop it. But it's not necessarily a bad one.

A man with black hair, a familiar face hovering over him. Hovering over his bed, then frantically looking at him down in the trenches. The familiar face of Thomas Barrow. He turns and retreats, running away from them, leaving him without protection and leaving Patrick to die.

He could never give the man up. The war was over. No one else deserved to die, or claimed because of it. They deserved a second chance.

Even asking himself if he was a good man, meant he still was, wasn't he?

Tom, Edith, and Mary had taken breakfast in the dining room, but none of them ate. Lord Grantham and Matthew were the only ones who didn't come down.

Sybil's death and her concern for Matthew wasn't the only reason Mary couldn't bring herself to eat. She had Thomas arrested that morning. No one else knew about it yet, except for few servants.

She tried to tell herself it had been the right thing. Then why didn't it feel right? She was miles away while Tom was talking to them.

Tom said he would be leaving once he could find a job. Edith told him there was no rush. "Have you though of a name for her?"

"Sybil."

"Wouldn't that be painful?" Mary asked.

"At first. How's Matthew doing?"

"A bit better but not by much. I had Anna send him up a tray."

"He blames himself." Tom said. "His health shouldn't suffer for it."

It was a few days before his mother could come up to the house to see him. She should have been there to help.

"You could have fallen and broken something." He told her. "You could have lied there and it would have been hours before someone found you. Then where would we be?"

"You're right." She had said it more for his comfort. She wanted to talk about what had happened, the night of Sybil's death. He had had an episode in the middle of trying to get her help.

"It was a bad one, mother." He said. "Mary's never...seen me like that."

"She handled it very well from my understanding."

Just how much had she been told? Robert had slept through his worst of it, probably with the assistance of alcohol, to help him sleep. Just as he had. He had asked Thomas, before the wedding to see if he could find him something to help him fall asleep, so he wouldn't have the nightmares. He hadn't explained the last bit to Thomas, he hadn't needed to. He had been managing the nightmares and hadn't needed it, until now. He knew that Thomas had connections. The footman had witnessed the same many horrors and had to have the same torments that he had to face at night. Thomas had been reluctant and hesitant before he had said, I'll see what I can do." He had come to him with a bottle of Absinthe, basically alcohol, with a few other ingredients that were supposed to help. It had been banned in France and the only way to get it was through illegal means, the black market. Thomas had handed to him, the night he had spoken to Mary about their future, he had carried it on him, even as he'd spoken to Tom, _You won't be happy with anyone else as long as Lady Mary walks this earth._ He had felt as if it could burn a hole in his pocket, as he talked to her about their future.

He had needed her to kiss him, pull him back to reality, that he was really going to marry her. In that instant, it had reminded him that all he needed was her. And he would be alright. As long as he had her. But sometimes she wouldn't be enough as had been evident with Sybil's death. He didn't have use for it until a few nights ago.

"I was thinking of spending more time here." His mother was saying. "For the night I'll be staying in a room next door."

"Mother, you don't have to..."

"It will set my mind at ease to know you're alright."

He pulled himself up "Can you bring me my chair and my crutches? I can't very well stay in this bed all day. It will set me farther back, which I cannot afford. I have to use my legs, keep them strong."

"Yes, you should. It's good that you're showing initiative. Do you need any help?"

"I'll have Bates do it. I'm just going down to the library."

"Are you sure it can't wait, that you're up to it? I don't want you to over exert yourself. The weather will be warmer in a few days, so you will be able to attend the funeral." She thought she saw his face shadowed with distress. She then quickly added, "the paths will be clear by then."

But he hadn't heard or wasn't listening. "I have someone to met in an hour." They wouldn't be able to bury her until the ground thawed but they would still have a service. It would be months before they could have a grave ready for her. He fought the images of rotting corpses.

He had to get his mind off it. Murray was coming and it was the best excuse as any. The world must go on.

Mary came into the library to get a peace of mind, only to find Matthew and her father's lawyer, talking about the estate. That upset her more than how quickly he appeared to have recovered, the fact that he was moving on as if nothing had happened. Just not long ago he was literally and figuratively crippled by the loss. "What is this?"

"Mr. Crawley and I were discussing the future of the estate." Murray said.

"My sister's body has just been removed from the house." Sybil's body had lied in the bedroom where she died for two days. Tom hadn't left her until the men from Graspie's arrived, even then it was harder for him to budge, if she and Edith hadn't convinced him. And poor Papa hadn't left his room. Matthew, taking charge of things, without him, it felt like a betrayal. "Papa cannot see or speak to anyone at the moment."

"I'm sorry. If I'd known..." Murray began.

"No. That's understandable." She threw an accusing gaze at Matthew. He had to look away. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I must be going. I have other business to attend to in York. Give your father and the rest of the family my condolences." The lawyer left the room.

Mary turned to Matthew with a steely look. "My father just lost his youngest daughter. Is that enough, that he has to lose control over his estate in the same day?"

* * *

"Doesn't it concern you that he went behind your back?"

"Matthew had good intentions. That's exactly what we need, if I were ever incapacitated, he would have to make these decisions."

"Yes. It's always Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. He's the perfect child you never had. He can do no wrong. You never thought of Patrick as a son. Your youngest child has died and it doesn't even seem to matter. Is he to take Sybil's place now as your favorite child?"

"Mary, that is quite enough. You're a grown married woman.

"You're right. I'm so sorry, Papa." She put her hand to her mouth. "It's all been too hard to process." She was losing control. She couldn't do anything for Sybil now. She wanted to take care of Matthew, but she did not know how to help him. How could she even try if he didn't allow her to?

"I know, my darling girl."

Both father and daughter embraced and wept for their losses. Wife, daughter, sister, and husband. But Matthew was not dead. It felt like he was only half living. She would try to find a way to make him feel alive again.

He was still in the library, when she came looking for him.

"How long where you keeping this from me?" She asked.

"I forgot he was coming. It would have seemed awfully rude to send him away."

"I'm sure he would have understood. But that's not what I meant."

"They saw me, Mary. Everyone saw..." He could never be an Earl now. They knew how weak his mind was. It would take time.

"It wasn't something you could control. You were under the influence of a drug."

"But before then...it's not very different."

"Why didn't you tell me? Have you been hiding them from me? When I hardly see you during the day..." She trails off. _That's when they happen._

"I didn't want to put more of a burden on you. The nightmares were more than enough for you to handle. I didn't want to put more of a burden on you than I already have."

"Do you have little faith in me, that I couldn't take this on as well?" She sat down on the couch, next to him, where he had wheeled himself over. She grabbed his hand. "Can you explain it to me? How...what it feels like."

" It feels like something takes over, like I'm losing control over my mind. It feels like I'm slipping. It's seems so easy sometimes, how it would be to let it. But I can't because you won't let me."

"And rightfully so."

"But how ever briefly that I can, it's a relief."

"When else...the night we announced our engagement, the gun fire in the drawing room, and when that servant dropped the tray."

"It startled me is all."

"It made you feel unwell. I should have known. I'm a terrible wife. How could I not have seen?"

"My darling, you are a wonderful wife. And as you said, I was hiding it from you. I didn't want you to have to see. And you weren't my wife yet."

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get out of it."

"See you do read me so well, when you want to. Subconsciously you knew what was going on. It's like a waiting game, waiting for the ghosts to come back. Sometimes I get these flashes of memory...when I saw her, saw the blood, I went back there." _Things came back. Things I'd forgotten...like I'd forgotten about Patrick, that he was dead._ He had seen him in Sybil's place. "I don't know how long it lasted. I couldn't save her."

"It didn't last for long. You were able to get help." She rested her hand on his. "You're not to blame for this." Then why did it feel like he was? She was dead. Nothing was going to change that. They sat in silence for a while. "It will feel strange, our first Christmas without her." Sybil had been the epitome of Christmas cheer. He nods in agreement.

* * *

Daniel had been out walking. It was early in the morning, though the sun had not risen yet. It would appear he was out all night up to nefarious means, while he was in secret, feeding a stray dog he had found. _You must be a royal dog._ He joked as the dog wolfed down the scraps he had given him. He enjoyed the Lordships fine dining. Afterwards he would cut across the cemetery to avoid going through the main village. He could make an outline of a figure, a man, standing near one of the graves. It must be the grounds keeper was his first initial thought.

Perhaps a mourner. As he got closer he saw that the man was by the row of white crosses.

He then recognised the man at once. Mr. Matthew. He was in his pajamas.

He looked down. At least he wasn't barefoot but the poor man had put on his army boots. His heart lurched to his throat. He thought of his father, how he would re-enact the actual combat. Mr. Matthew hadn't so far.

A car pulled up at the end of the path. Daniel recognised the man as Downton's chauffer, Hornsby._ This is how he had gotten here._ Daniel got Mr. Matthew, who remained silent, into the back seat and got in beside him. Reaching over to shut the door, Daniel ordered to the chauffer,

"Not a word."

Daniel brought him back inside the house using the servants entrance. Miss Hughes had been understanding of it. The housekeeper had heard the servants door open and close.

"I'm not going to ask what you were doing out at this ungodly hour...Good heavens!" Her eyes widened at the sight of them.

"I found him like this." He looked pleadingly at Miss Hughes. "Please, Miss Hughes, don't tell anyone!"

Miss Hughes nodded sympathetically. While Daniel sat with him, she came over with a tea pot, and two mugs. "A nice spot of tea will warm you right up, Mr. Crawley."

"Thanks." They were both surprised that he had said anything at all, and even proceeded to drink it.

Once he had finished, Daniel offered to take him up to bed.

"Take him up the back way. That way, no one sees."

* * *

"You look a bit unsteady, sir. Maybe you should lean against me."

He did what Daniel told him, not inquiring about it, while staying close to the wall.

The young lad was right. He didn't know what was wrong but he was having trouble with his legs. Perhaps it was the fear that was gripping him. He remembered what happened last time he had hesitated because of his fear. Bertie had lost half his face, dying two days later. He wouldn't let that happen again. They needed to stay close to the wall of the trench, so they couldn't be shot at or shelled. He could hear them in the distance. His heart began to pound as the explosions began to sound like they were getting closer.

Mr. Matthew suddenly stopped.

"Do you hear it?"

"Hear what, sir?"

In the candle light Daniel watched his face. It was making flinching, spasmatic movements. They were happening between the claps of thunder. Then his face changed, seemed to darken a bit, "you, what are you doing here? I shall have to report you for this. And put that light out."

It was too dark to tell who it was beside him but from the outline he could tell it was a young boy. _Probably didn't know any better. He would have to learn to grow up fast. There was no time for mistakes out here. _

"It's me, sir." He stopped himself from saying his name. _Let him think that I'm one of his. _It probably wouldn't be a good idea to pull him out right in the middle of the illusion. It would be more distressing and humiliating for Mr. Matthew. He'd have to come up with an explanation that he wasn't prepared to give. It was better to go along till he was out of it. At least till he could get him to his bed, where he'd hopefully fall asleep. He wondered how he would manage to get him into it. He couldn't take him to his and Lady Mary's bedroom.

_His dressing room._

But then Mr. Matthew replied, "Mason?"

"That's right."

"What were you thinking? Put that light out. They'll see where we are."

His delayed responses gave Daniel enough time to come up with a believable answer.

"I have a message for you, sir."

Another roll of thunder started.

"Do you hear that?" He tensed and Daniel gently touched his arm. That probably wasn't a good idea but luck was working with him, it didn't further startle him or cause a violent reaction.

Mr. Matthew had never been violent but if anyone saw them, there was no telling how he would react. Daniel's father had almost hurt Daniel's mother before he was sent away, to an asylum where he had died when Daniel had been sixteen. Auntie had told Lord Grantham that they had sent him back to the front, probably because of the humiliation of the truth or she had convinced herself because it was far less painful.

"It's a long way off. Nowhere near here." Daniel said gently. He had to get him to move along. "I'm a messenger. They want you at...headquarters. I'll show you the way." He immediately realised his mistake. Hopefully he's forgotten who he said he was before and doesn't think that it's a rouse, that he's a spy or worse, an enemy soldier.

Apparently he hadn't, as he continued to walk with Daniel, steadily, not speaking.

_Things can change in an instant. He might become suspicious of you. _Only when they stopped outside the dressing room door, did he look a little weary. _He must be tiring out. He'll want to go to sleep._

"I think I need to go the the infirmary. I..." He wasn't injured but his legs felt tired, like he was going to collapse, if he wasn't being supported.

"You just need to rest, sir."

_Yes. That must be it. _

He stopped in the door way, the room lit by dim candle light.

Daniel saw what he was staring at. The light from the candle and the red glow from the fireplace where distorting the furniture and the branches of the trees, visible from the window, that could be perceived as ghosts, in his current state. Or enemy soldiers. He grabbed Daniel's wrist, his fingers ice cold.

Daniel started talking so he wouldn't make a vice like grip. "It's alright, sir. We're safe now." They stopped in the doorway. Daniel didn't know what he should say next. He tried figuring out a way to get him into bed, not sure how much longer he could take Mr. Matthew's weight. He was as tall as his cousin Alfred but even he had his limits.

"I'm going to turn in, Mason. Wake me up in a half hour. Stand to."

"You get your rest sir, I'll keep watch." _Mason. He thinks I'm William._

"Do you hear the guns?"

"They've stopped now. That's just the thunder."

There was movement from the lounge chair. It wasn't the trick of the shadows.

"Hello? Who's there?" It was an older woman's voice. "Matthew?"

Isobel peered around the high backed chair. She saw a young man, dressed in civilian clothes but she recognised him immediately. The footman. She had heard voices whispering. One of them had been Matthew's, she had been sure. But his voice had been uncertain, frightened like a child's.

"Sorry, Mrs. Isobel. I didn't know you were here."

She blinked sleepily. Her son came into view. He was wearing a blank expression, there was nothing in his eyes.

"Matthew?!"_ My dear boy._

"I found him outside. By William's grave. I brought him through the back way so no one would see."

She had already gotten up and gone over to her son, examining him, her hands shaking as she reached up to touch his face, but hesitated, before putting them back down beside her. She looked into his eyes but he wasn't looking back. Even when she brushed a strand of his hair from his face. "Thank you." She searched for a name. "Daniel, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Daniel. I'll take it from here."

The young man was hesitant to leave for a moment but then she gave him a look of assurance. Daniel nodded, ducking out the door.

She tried to lead Matthew to the bed. She almost got him there when she started feeling the resistance. He remained stationary, his feet firmly planted. He was wearing his army boots, covered in grass and dirt. It must have been a mud field earlier, the cemetery always was after a heavy rain. It must have reminded him. She looked up into his eyes, as much as she didn't want to. His eyes were not completely expressionless this time. There was a little bit of awareness but the wrong kind. There was no word that Isobel could use to explain it.

"I have to go back..." As he said the words, she could detect the trepidation and panic. Her mind doesn't want to go there, think of the place where his mind thinks he is, or what he thinks is happening, if he's even aware of her.

"Back to your own room? You wouldn't want to wake Mary." He can't be referring to the battlefield. She doesn't want to believe it.

She helped him into bed, to where he was sitting on the edge. Then he scooted himself back. While he lifted his legs up she took off his boots and placed them by the bed, out of sight, almost underneath it. When she straightened up, he was already lying back on the bed, head resting on the propped up pillows, staring blankly. She pulled the covers up a ways, just above his waist, leaving them untucked. He hadn't been able to sleep that way since he came back.

When she woke, he wasn't in his bed. Light was starting to catch through the window. The servants would be starting to wake up. She had to find him before anyone else did. Where had he gone off to? In a near panic, she got up. She checked the hall before descending the staircase. There he was, at the bottom landing, leaning against the banister.

"Matthew, what are you doing?" She didn't mean for her voice to startle him.

"I have to go back...I have to...William. I have to get to..."

Her worst fear is confirmed. He thinks he's back. He needs to be reminded, that he's not in that horror, just reliving it. He needs to know he's home, that he's safe. There was no need to worry about his young friend. He was where he couldn't feel pain anymore. "Darling, William's...He's at peace now."

"No." He responds with a sharp anger. She knows the reason behind it. They couldn't feel pain anymore and he still could. Her son was still in pain. Then his voice wavers, almost breaking. "No. He isn't..." He had just been speaking to him. He said he would keep watch. He wouldn't have gone off with the others, leaving him behind. He wasn't alone. Someone was speaking to him. The voice had called him darling, a woman's voice. It wasn't Mary's. _Mother!_ He must be back home. Or this is a dream. An imposter, not his mother. They wouldn't fool him. His mother would never tell him such a cruel lie. _Let her try to stop me. I have to get to William._

Isobel walked down the rest of the steps, putting a hand to to his face, shaking her head. She didn't hesitate to touch him this time. Felling her touch would bring him back to reality.

"No. It isn't..."_ It isn't real. It isn't real. _He wanted to shout. _You're not real. _He didn't want to believe it, even though he felt her touch. He didn't want to go through all of it again. Losing Patrick, so many...…

"Shh..." She stroked his hair. Couldn't he feel it, that she was real, that he wasn't where he thought he was? She closed her eyes, willing herself not to give into the tears. Her heart felt like it was breaking because she feared that his mind was breaking, that it was on the precipice of no return, finally unraveling. And she could do nothing to stop it, to bring him back. _No. I can't give up. I'm his mother._

He had to leave the bunker. Find his men. He couldn't stay here and be a coward. But as he threw open the door he sensed something immediately wasn't right. It was not the narrow dirt walls of the trench that he saw. But gravel, a wide open space, fresh air and fresh green grass. A garden. Downton's front garden. _That can't be right. _

"This can't be right."

He made it to the heavy double doors, opening them, but instead of walking out, he just stood against the archway. She couldn't chase after him if he decided to walk out, though he wouldn't make it far. She silently prayed he wouldn't. Then something happened. He took a step back, shaking his head, as if he was confused. _Because he is. He's half in a dream._

"No. This isn't...this isn't right...it can't...this isn't real." His voice was almost loud enough to echo throughout the great hall, with the wide open space and the high ceiling. She had to quiet him. Calm him. "This can't be..."

"Yes. Yes it is. Why don't you come back with me now..."

"It was real."

"Matthew, it was a only a dream. You're sleepwalking."

"No."

"Yes."

"It was real." He had just seen Mason. But no, no he hadn't. It had to be true, what his mother was saying. He started to sob.

She put a hand to his face, feeling the tears stream down her hand. With her free hand, she grabbed hold of his right. "Matthew." _My dear sweet boy. _

He wasn't a boy. He was a man, frightened like a child. She hated the war, hated God for doing this to her son. She hadn't spent time with him as a child, taken care of him as a mother should. This was like some cruel twist of fate, that she was able to make up for that now, in this way. No. This wasn't God's doing, it was of man's own nature. A hell created by politicians who had sat and done nothing while sending all the young men off to die or left them to come back shells of their former selves. This was a different fear. An adult fear, when your world has been shattered, four years in a hell witnessing things that you can't unsee or wash your hands clean of. But that was the past. He had to know that. That he wasn't back there, he was home.

"Matthew, you were dreaming. You're still dreaming, sweetheart. Come on back to bed." She looked up at his face, desperate. He seemed unsure. His eyes sparkled with desperation, not wanting to let go of the William was alive? That he was back in the war? Why on earth would he want to be back there? Or he can't remember the last three years in this semi-sleeping state.

_He's not sleeping. He's lost in his mind. A way to cope from young Sybil's death?_ _Perhaps by acting out his failures was a way for his mind to accept what he couldn't change._ She had no time to think of the answers. She had to get him back to his dressing room before the whole house woke up. _They can't see him like this._ Would they send her son away? _No_. _They wouldn't._ Robert was too if they did, they'd have to drag him out over her cold dead body.

She closed the front door, bolting it shut. As the bolt slid home, he sort of woke up in a sense, but he was still not here with her. He let her lead him back up the stairs. She got him into bed.

"I couldn't save them. I couldn't save them." He muttered as she pulled the sheets up to his waist. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * *

Matthew had been sound asleep for hours now, the sun barley just peeking over the clouds. Mary came into the room. "I wondered if this is where he'd gone off to." She said quietly.

"We mustn't wake him. He needs his sleep."

Mary agreed and came to sit next to her.

"He had a bad one this time." Isobel said even quieter, nearly croaking out the words. She had always thought Mary as the safe option for Matthew but in recent years she had proved to be much more. She could take care of her son, well, no better than herself. She was the qualified nurse after all and his mother. Right now wasn't the time for an ego trip. Her son was still suffering.

"I know." Mary said. "I was able to calm him." She had no idea. She had assumed Isobel was talking about the one a few days ago.

"I'm his mother and I don't know how to help him."

"We'll take it slowly. He'll get back. At his own pace." Mary had such patients.

"I should have been there to help with Sybil." What else could she have done? She couldn't even do anything for him and she was his mother. _I'm his mother and I can't help him._

_"_You must stop that now." Mary said lightly, but there was nothing light about it. "It won't do Matthew any good. What would have happened if you had slipped and fallen? Then where would we be?"

"That's what he said."

Mary nodded as if to say, well, there you go. _Our dear Matthew does know best._ "He's sleeping so soundly." He hadn't stirred while they had been talking. "He must have really needed it."

Isobel, who hadn't been looking at her the whole time, fearing the younger woman would have read her right off that something deeper and troubling was going on. "Does he sleepwalk by any chance?"

"No. Not that I know of. I'm usually a sound sleeper. I slept through an earthquake once..." Matthew usually wasn't. The slightest noise could wake him up. She wondered if it was a habit he had picked up, over there or had be always been one? She had been wakened by his nightmares on occasion. That was because she wasn't fully asleep when they occurred. How many of them occurred without her knowledge? She doubted he remembered any of them. He rarely did. And she'd leave it at that. And she had never known him to sleepwalk or act out his nightmares, besides the tossing and turning and shouting (and apart from his drug induced nightmare, he had acted out. That had been the worst. She still couldn't get it out of her head. She feared that he had been dying.) She wondered what prompted Isobel to ask, so she asked, "Why?"

"Just thought I would ask."

Mary got up from her chair, turning to leave. She then turned back, clearly wanting to ask her something.

"I'll stay with him for a few more hours." Isobel answered. An hour passed before Matthew began to wake.

"Mother?" He asked, sleepily, sitting up in bed. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"You were sleepwalking last night. I was worried." She went over to the window and drew back the curtains.

"Hence why I'm in my dressing room." He looked around the room, sounding chipper, beginning to pull back the sheets. He stopped to think. "Sleepwalking?" A frown pulled at his lips, doubting that he'd ever do such a thing. He had no reason to. He put a hand to the back of his head, scratching it as if it would shake out the answer. "I vaguely recall." Isobel studied him, trying determine if he was telling the truth. He'd squint his eyes if he was lying or covering up for himself. It could be the light. "What?" He had a worried tone to his voice. "I hope I didn't do anything too embarrassing." He said it in a bit of a jovial manner.

"No. You just called out for William." There was no use lying to him, she'd just leave the other details out. It was her main primal urge to protect him. "That you couldn't save the others." He gave a small nod in response, turning his head away for a moment. He watched the sun on the horizon.

"What time is it by the way?"

"Eleven."

"You let me sleep in that long?"

She went over to the bed, gesturing him to lay back. "You needed the rest." She even pulled the blanket back over him, carefully, making sure it wasn't tight. "And Mary and I both agreed that you needed it."

"Mary was here?"

"She figured you must have wondered off to your dressing room. She didn't want to wake you."

"I really wish you two wouldn't discuss me without my knowledge. I should be spending less time in bed."

"Yes. And you'll do you exercises later." She could tell he was complaining inwardly like a child. He hated being confined. "I'll have your breakfast brought up."

"I'll be taking it in bed with my wife."

She sighed, having no choice but to let him. It was still hard to accept sometimes that he wasn't only hers anymore.

When he had reached their bedroom Anna was making the bed. He cleared his throat to announce himself. "Have you seen Lady Mary around?"

"You just missed her, Mr. Matthew. She's already had her breakfast."

"Ah." He was disappointed, hoping to have caught her, perhaps still eating. He'd have had his own tray brought up and when he'd finished he would have liked to curl up with her. Maybe later then.

"She's downstairs with the others, sir. Would you be joining them or shall I have a tray brought up?"

"I think I'll join them."

Robert had heard about the 'sleepwalking' incident, wondering how he had gotten to the cemetery in the first place. He couldn't have walked or driven the car. The chauffeur admitted driving him. Robert was furious, threatening to fire him.

"He seemed clear of mind when I took him. I was just doing my job."

"I think you're being too harsh Cousin Robert." Matthew came to his defense as he had with Tom, when he had threatened to fire him. "I asked him to."

Mary and Matthew's gazes met. She then looked at her father, indicating that she would like to speak with her husband alone. "Matthew, would you like to join me in the morning room?"

He simply nodded.

As he sat on the sofa, she wore a peculiar expression, her eyes and eyebrows lowered. "What?"

"It is true, then?"

"Yes. I had him drive me to the cemetery."

"What reason was there for you to go there?"

"Does there need to be a reason?" He was deflecting, avoiding the question. Perhaps stalling as long as he could.

Was he searching for something plausible for her to accept? He wouldn't do that to her, would he? He made a promise he wouldn't hide them from her anymore. Had he had some kind of episode without knowing?

"Your mother asked me if you sleepwalk. Is that what happened? Why she didn't tell me...I'll give her my mind, keeping something like this from me."

"Leave my mother out of this. This has nothing to do with her."

And he was right. She was looking for an excuse to blame someone. She was him she was truly worried about. She was always worried about him. She couldn't help but think of him all alone and cold out there. The chauffeur had to have taken him to the cemetery at his bequest. He couldn't have walked that far. But had he been aware when he had asked him? Could one do such an action in his sleep?

She didn't care about his rapid fire responses. She was more concerned about how long he had spent out there. "You could have gotten pneumonia." She scolded, hiding her worry. Pneumonia could be fatal to him.

"But I didn't. I asked him to take me out there to visit William and the others." His voice was low. It always dropped an octave when he was speaking of something sad or feeling disappointed in himself, or keeping something from her.

_Stop that now. I have to believe him. If I can't trust him, then what do we have?_

"I don't remember anything after, after..." His throat worked as if he had lost the ability to talk. He swallowed several time. "Perhaps I did fall asleep. I remember being tired." Tired. He was so tired. Tired of all this, these endless nightmares, these flashes of memory that was constantly disrupting their married life. Not just that. His other relationships as well, with Tom but partly that had been his guilt about Sybil, and his mother. Whatever he had put her through, he had to take a guess, she probably saw him ranting and raving. He recalled calling out for William, that he knew was the truth and muttering over and over, _"I couldn't save them."_

"I couldn't save them."

Everything went silent. He picks up a magazine off the end table, without realising that it's Sybil's, she must had left it there weeks ago. No one had had the heart to remove it. It was unlikely that it had been forgotten about.

_It's the stress getting to him._ _If he stopped blaming himself for Sybil, for everything, perhaps there would be less. _It had worked before. _He needs to know. I need to tell him that I don't blame him._ Mary gazed at him, lovingly, hoping he'd noticed and not be the clueless lawyer that he was when it came to such things. Thankfully he did when he turned to her with interest, waiting for her to say something.

"I don't blame you, you know. For Sybil." He would feel guilty about his men, perhaps for ever but at least this would be off his conscience. And it would put a stop to nightmares and episodes, at least the increasing severity of them.

"That's what it bloody well felt like." He said, snidely.

"I know. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Course you did." He snapped, throwing the magazine at her feet. As soon as he did, he regretted it. He closed his eyes tightly, sitting back as he rubbed his face. "I'm sorry. I know that isn't true." _How do I stop thinking? A thought gets in my head. It gets stuck like a splinter in the brain. Sometimes I just say things I don't mean._

She knew. He didn't have to tell her. He lashed out when he was scared or he just blurted out what he thought or felt in the moment. She did the same thing. They were more alike then he knew. She bent down and picked up the magazine and placed it on the table, and sat down beside him. "I know, darling. You don't have to tell me..."

"My dear, you must learn to not pay attention to the things I say." He echoed her words from the first night they had their first kiss, the first time he had proposed. They both smiled and laughed, and he pulled her in to his arms.

Apparently he did know. It wasn't a trait he'd always had. He felt everything more deeply now. Stress impacted him differently. She had given him the wrong impression that she blamed him for her sister. It had effected his health. If anyone should feel guilty, it should be her, she thought.

"It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done. Anyone could have done." The baby was big and she had been small. She had hemorrhaged. A cruel act of nature. A cruel act of nature had killed his father. She supposed he felt guilty about that too. Another topic he never discussed with her.

"I suppose there was nothing I could have gone differently." She had a sense that he was not only talking about Sybil but everyone he had lost. "But I'm always going to feel guilty about something." His men, the men he had sent to their deaths, Patrick, for leaving him to go get help, only for him to die a few days later. For his father. He should have been there for the both of them. Mary always managed to full him back, from that dark sinking feeling of the abyss. Is that how fallen angels felt? He was no fallen angel but he was hers. Her fallen golden prince. Her fallen soldier. She had picked up the pieces over and over and over again. And yet he felt that it wasn't fair to her, that she should feel it was demanded of her. "The only reason I can get through it all is you. You..." _You can make it better, soften the blow. My dear, I wish I could tell you so many things. But I know we'll get through this._ "We'll..._"_

He didn't have to say anything more. "Yes, we will." She leaned over, curling in to him. He held her close.

* * *

It was not long before everyone knew what happened to Thomas. Matthew was not happy about it. She had done most of the arguing about it. He didn't want to fight her on this and left the house for awhile. When he came back it was as if it was the only thing they could talk about.

"This isn't who you are. Revenge is not a path you want to go down. You just find yourself in deeper, you dig yourself a hole you can't get out of."

"Why are you so concerned about it?"

"It wasn't his fault. I went to him. I knew he had...connections..."

"You could get in serious trouble."

"I know. That's why I wish you should have come to me."

"Didn't you think about it? Did you not care what happened to you? When you took those pills?"

"No. And it wasn't pills. I barely drank much of it. I thought it would help." He stopped a moment to think, before telling her. "I went to see him."

"See who? Thomas?"

"I had the charges dropped."

"How..."

"I am a lawyer. I know my way around things. I took it from him willingly. He didn't force me."

"What did you say to him?"

"That I didn't blame him. That you were in the wrong and you were only doing what you thought was right, protecting me."

"He's not coming back here?"

"I'll have your father put in a reference for him. He doesn't need to know about this."

"What else didn't you blame him for?"

"What do you mean?"

"It seems deeper than that. What lengths you went to clear him. I suppose it's because you served in the war together."

Matthew's shoulders slumped.

"When you were having that dream, you said to Thomas, though I know it wasn't really him you were speaking to, you told somebody not to leave you."

"We were sent out there, the three of us. Patrick and I..." It still hurt to talk about him, even think about him. "I asked the third man to cover us, my gun wasn't working, and he just ran. He left us there."

"Do you know who the man was? What he looked like?"

He shook his head. "It's still a bit fuzzy."

"After all this time?" She didn't believe him. She was asking but she already knew who he was protecting, because he had seen so much death. Her honorable and humble Matthew, sometimes she thought she didn't deserve him.

"There are many things I chose to forget." She looked at him with watery eyes. "Let us please move on from this?" He begged. "We're stronger than this."

She agreed. She didn't have to say a word, just accepted it because, this was his secret, Pamuk had been hers. Her new secret was how painful it was to love him, and yet how painful it would be to live in a world were he didn't exists. Both their demons and their pain that they try to hide, they must carry it with them always. It was the hurt and the pain that made you who you were. Looking back on it, and how you let it affect you, and how you chose to act, was up to you. Your choice to rise above it and say, I survived. It was so much stronger than and made you prepared for love. So you could love and live again.

* * *

The first episode she had actually witnessed they were out at a Jazz club.

_I'm not sure what the sound was,_ Mary wrote in her journal, _a car backfiring, a cat knocking over a trash can,_ _a wedding party firing celebratory shots in to the air. But whatever it was, the sound caused him to jump in his seat. He gazed up at me, his eyes wet. He slowly took out a cigarette, careful to steady his shaking hands._

She has learned to handle these, his night terrors. She had to wait it out, how she wished she could comfort him through them, but she could afterwards.

_One night, when he returned from London, he was jumpy and chain-smoking. Alright maybe he had one or two. The doctor, not Clarkson, said it would be good for his lungs and his nerves. It seemed to be helping very little with the nerves, for his voice shook, his words tumbling out between panicked breaths. His eyes roamed wildly in their sockets, never focusing on anything in particular. Even hours later, he still couldn't stand or speak properly._

_I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He said no. So I sat with him while he smoked, neither of us saying a word. I put a arm around him and curled up against him. He put his free arm around me. I wonder what he is thinking._

_War is hell. It has an impact on the people who take part that never heals. War is._

"_They don't like to talk about it." I inclined my head toward him, wondering where this had come from or what he had meant. For a moment I thought he was still talking gibberish, that he had finally gone mad. I lifted myself up further and just listened, while he went into lawyer mode. "In general, if you're a soldier and you've killed in war, you lie and say no. It tends to be the secret we have that we're not proud of. We want to fight bravely, but it's hard to be proud of killing another person." Many of his fellow soldiers didn't shoot. He said. He had shot. I didn't need to ask. "Killing in combat for a psychologically normal individual is bearable only if he is able to distance themselves from their own actions. I didn't at first. The first person I shot, I cried." That's all he says._

_He must have felt weak and ashamed. But he mustn't. But I can't tell him. We don't drift in to that same dreaded silence we had in the past, in the early days after he had first came home in 1915. A year before he had proposed. I had been furious that he wouldn't talk to me about it, about anything. I had asked him how things were._

_"I don't want to talk about it."_

_"What can we talk about? It seems we have nothing to talk about these days."_

_"You're not the only one that is in pain. It was best that I called off the engagement."_ _Looking back now, I believe he wasn't only talking about our broken hearts, but rather he was talking about something broken in him. As if he knew it was already there. But how could he?_

_Had what ever had wormed it's way in to his mind, this dark abyss of torment, that always threatened to take him away from me, had it already take root, even back then? That first glimpse of that far away stare at dinner in 1915, when I had asked him how the war was, I'll never forget it. It had twisted him into something unrecognisable after his injury, giving him unwanted and cruel thoughts that he had no control over. He never meant them._

_Just as in that moment, in front of the fire, we both hadn't meant what we said. We were still in a painful place, and frightened. The whole world had been. He had lapsed into silence again, staring at the fire. What had he seen beyond those dancing flames?_

_This agonizing torment, when will it be gone from him? His silence I usually fear. It's usually signals that he's gone away. But now, in this moment, this kind of silence was relaxing, peaceful, as I curled back in to him, listening to his gentle breathing. I feel the old him creeping back. And it's only a matter of time before it's torn away from me again._

_There are still things he will choose not to tell me and I am ok with that. I realise now that I have to trust him to fight his own battles. And, while his trauma is a language I can't speak, sometimes you don't need to translate the lyrics to share the emotions behind a song._


	19. April 1921- December 1923

Sybie was Christened in April, the week before Easter Sunday, which by then Mary was four months pregnant. She had announced it first to Matthew, back in February. He had been shocked, like he couldn't believe it. Then he reacted like any other man being told he was going to be a father for the first time.

Tom wanted Sybie to be Catholic, much to Robert's strong disapproval, that the Crawley's have always been part of the English Church. Matthew had told them that Sybil had wanted her to be Catholic.

"Really?" This from Mary. She thought she had known her sister. Though she felt that she should honor her wish.

The spring season dissolved into the sweltering days of summer, the annual charity Bazaar, which was usually on the first of June, was in question, if it were to be held. The responsibility to organize it had originally fallen to Cora, as part of her countess duties. It would have also fallen to Lady Sinderby if she had married Robert but she felt the prejudices were too strong. She wouldn't spoil his good name. The death of Sybil had seemed to drive them apart anyway and Rachel wasn't even his wife, and Sybil hadn't been her child. Mary supposed it was because she had become close with the family. Seeing her father like that day after day, struggling to keep things together, must had put a toll on things. They had decided to remain friends. Mary had felt that it had been her fault, that she had her father drive her away because of her obvious disapproval. She wanted her father to be happy and not send Rachel away because of her.

_"Don't send her away because I've been acting sorely."_

Her father then discussed the details. She did want her father to have happiness and purpose again. Throwing the Bazaar this year would be a welcome distraction and it would bring in some money for the estate.

Back in June of 1919, six months after Cora's death, Mary, Edith and Sybil put themselves in charge of the Bazaar. Even Isobel had helped. Sybil had been given the credit of having ran it successfully. That year, when they were gathered around the table, going over the details, Robert had recalled to his family, he had looked close to tears, that he and Cora had met at a Bazaar in Paris.

_"We absolutely hated each other. She accused me of being occasionally impulsive with a touch of self reckless righteousness."_

_"Just occasionally impulsive? Not much has changed, Papa." Sybil was the one to tease him._

Sybil had just been with them six months ago. They must have the Bazaar this year in their mother's honor, just as they had the christening in Sybil's.

Their father agreed as long as it could still host the annual cricket match. Cricket was Matthew's favourite sport as well but of course he couldn't play anymore. Robert wanted Tom to be his replacement. Mary thought it a good idea. It would be a way to let Tom know and feel he was accepted.

Anna helped Mary get dressed for dinner. She had been in a peculiar mood recently. Mary asked her about it.

"You can tell me what it is."

"Nothing bad, Mi 'lady. With a baby in the house and with one on the way, Bates and I have been discussing about starting our own."

"Oh, Anna. That's great!"

"But there is one thing that I'm concerned about."

"You don't need to worry. You'll still have a job as long as I'm living here."

"Thank you, Mi 'lady."

"And if you needed to make any appointments, I know just the man for it. You can go to doctor Ryder in Harley street. You'd be in good hands."

"I couldn't possibly..."

Matthew caught the tail end of their sentences as he entered the room. "What were you two talking about?"

"Women stuff." Mary put on her earrings. "Your ears must've been burning earlier."

Matthew sat down at the window seat. "What?"

"Papa's been discussing the cricket match. He's been looking for a replacement."

"He must be getting desperate, considering the village has thrashed us the past few years." And the fact he couldn't play anymore. He couldn't say that he quite missed it, with Robert's competitiveness.

"He was thinking about Tom but he has no interest in playing."

"You want me to persuade him."

"If you put it like that."

"I'm sure I'll be able to give him a few pointers. I suppose Bates must count himself lucky to be out of it as I do." He said to Anna.

"I think he'd like to walk normally, sir. If the price of cricket was the only price to pay." Anna said, straight faced.

"Of course. I'm so sorry. Stupid of me." Matthew muttered.

"It's quite alright, sir. I was only joking." Anna tried but failed to keep from smiling. Mary exchanged a smile of her own, as if to say, see, I told you he can be a complete dork. Matthew didn't catch on.

Anna was still smiling as she descended down the steps to the servants hall.

* * *

"How's the cricket match coming along?" Matthew asked at luncheon.

"We're still too short." Robert replied.

Matthew turned his head toward Tom, "And you're still determined not to play?"

"It's not that I won't play. I can't play. I don't know how."

_Ah. So he said he didn't have any interest because he's embarrassed to admit that he can't play. _He knew that feeling. For an entirely different reason. He had been embarrassed about being too good at it, when he was asked to be part of the team when he had first come to Downton. He hadn't wanted another reason for Mary to hate him. But it had turned out that it hadn't mattered.

"I can teach you." He sensed all eyes on him.

Mary had almost held her breath. Unsure how this would be successfully achieved.

As if he sensed her concern, he added, in a bit humorous manner, "I can still throw a ball." He turned to Daniel, who had been serving them. "Daniel, you look like you got a good pair of running legs. How would you like to put them to use?"

"Yes, sir!" The footman was obviously eager to get out of work. "I was always the best growing up, playing it with my cousins. We'd skip church just to practice. I think it's about time it payed off."

"I just found your other replacement Robert!" Matthew said, proudly, (genuinely quite proud of himself) giving him a wink. Robert was stumped but then it dissolved into a smile of thanks.

Mary sat on the blanket watching baby Sybie, at the same time watching Matthew toss the ball to Tom. He still had a great throwing arm. Mary marveled at the sight, (how strong his arms were) smiling, as Matthew smiled and laughed, enjoying himself. It was as if he had forgotten the he was partially crippled.

The two brother-in-laws were bonding. It was like they were true brothers. Sybil would be looking down, smiling too.

That wasn't the only thing that had Mary in high spirits, her and Matthew's anniversary was coming up on the fifth of June. Granny had announced that her niece, Susan wanted her to stay with them in Scotland for the rest of the summer, and the family was invited. Matthew protested, with her being pregnant.

"Darling, it's not the 1850's." She said as Anna was getting her ready for the day. "No one expects me to hide in doors till the baby's born. We'll be staying four months in Scotland." Still sensing his worry, she added, "We'll be back long before the due date. Then soon I can get settled at the hospital."

"Alright. But if you change your mind at any point and want to come home at any point, just tell me."

"And I will do the same for you."

"Are you sure you should be going?" Robert asked. They were gathered in the library. "We leave the day of your and Matthew's anniversary. You could have the house to yourselves."

"I think it would be a marvelous idea to spend it there. I still have several months."

Carson cleared his throat.

"You don't want me to go either?"

"I think you should take care of yourself, My Lady."

"I agree. No grandchild of mine is going to be born in Scotland. It will be born here."

"I'd rather decide where my child should be born. And I want it to be in a hospital." Matthew offhandedly stated.

"Utter nonsense." Robert protested "Crawley's have been born at Downton for over two hundred years!"

"Hospitals are much safer and cleaner these days, or rather the one in the village, with my mother's management to keep it modernised, or least I remind you what happened to Sybil." It had come out harshly and Robert had almost struck him, if Tom hadn't intervened. Matthew lost his balance as he moved away from Robert, as Tom stepped in between them, arms outstretched, holding them off. Tom had caught him, knocking into a pillar with a vase. It shattered as it hit the floor. Granny told them not to worry about it, that it had been a wedding gift from her frightful mother in-law, that had been haunting her for more than half a century. She was glad to be rid of it.

"Shrimpie's got the best doctors at his disposal and they have one of the best hospitals, if it comes to that. Which I'm certain it won't." Mary said to him later that night, in bed.

"Darling, nothing can ever be certain. Haven't we learned that by now?"

"Dr. Clarkson recommended it'll be good for my health. I need the fresh air. Besides, I think it would do some good for you too."

On the morning of the fifth they left for Duneagle. When they arrived the Flintshires were outside with their servants, waiting for them. Mary pushed him in his wheelchair as they walked up to the estate.

"Cousin Matthew! Defender of the Downtrodden." Rose greeted him. Bending down she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The older man, who had to be Shrimpie came over to shake his hand, "We've met at the wedding."

"We have a lot of fun things planned!" Rose linked arms with Mary and Edith. "There's the ghillies ball, which Mary is always the star of."

"We'll have tea in the drawing room when you're ready to come down." Susan was saying to no one in particular.

Matthew was used to eating his dinners in silence; he had finally started to get used it. The bagpipes grated on his ears. He felt that afterwards he would need to clean his ears out with cotton swabs. He wasn't the only one.

"It's nice that you're keeping up with tradition." Robert said about the noise. He was being polite.

"He'll be back before eight to wake us up." Shrimpie said. "And he keeps it up through breakfast. So the chances of getting back to sleep again are nil." Matthew didn't mind. He barley got any sleep these days anyway. "Tomorrow we'll kit you off with some rifles."

That might prove a problem. At least for Mary. It had been a while since any sudden loud noises triggered him. It would take some convincing her, that he'd be alright with it.

"And what is planned for the women?" Violet asked.

"There's a picnic near the loch the day after tomorrow and the ghillies ball the day before you leave." Rose replied, hardly able to hold in her excitement. "The rest of that time you can fill up with plenty of things to do."

"I dread to think what the Scots do with their spare time." Violet chuckled.

"As a matter of fact a friend of mine is staying quite near here." Edith said. "I thought I might telephone him."

"Oh, you must ask him here!" Rose said, delighted.

"She doesn't have to." Robert said.

"I would like to meet him." Matthew said. He had wanted to meet her editor whom she had spoken to him so fondly of to him and no one else. If he wanted to make his way into the family Matthew had to see what he was like.

"Well, then. It's settled." Shrimpie liked the idea. The more the merrier and any chance to keep distance between himself and his wife. "Invite him over tomorrow. He can spend the day with us and join us for dinner."

Mary was suspicious of Gregson, that he was coincidently in Scotland. It was a distraction from what really troubled her. The hunting tomorrow. She approached her father about it. He said that they'll be far enough away in the distance. Even as Matthew said that it would be fine, it didn't ease her.

She would have to be lied up the rest of the evening and probably the next morning. Anna was just getting her ready for bed. "He's still not thanking me for the train ride. We were shaking around in that trap like a pair of dice. He was quite shaken. Don't tell Mr. Crawley."

"You'll have to stay in bed and take it easy at the ball."

"Are you looking forward to it?"

"I am rather, mi'lady. I'm planning a surprise for Mr. Bates."

"What sort of surprise?"

"No. It's a surprise for you too."

The door opened and Matthew had entered. As Anna departed, he looked from her to Mary. "What was that?"

"Just that I promised Anna that I'd rest tomorrow."

"And she's right. I was thinking of going fishing tomorrow. I've asked Gregson to come after their hunting, so I won't see you all day. So he'll be company." He climbed into bed next to her.

"He was right to invest in a pair of tales wasn't he? You know Susan invited him to the ghillies ball? He probably had reeling classes before London."

"Don't dislike him before you've met him. That's the hallmark of our parent's generation and I forbid it." He put his hand on her stomach and began to massage it.

"You think me nice but nobody else does. What makes you so sure that I am?"

"Because I have seen you naked and held you in my arms. And I know the real you."

"Goodness, what a testimonial." You truly did feel vulnerable when you were undressed, remembering how eager and nervous she had been to see his body for the first time. She had never seen a man fully naked before then, it had been too dark the first time and hadn't really counted. The first thing she had noticed about her husband, seeing him with his clothes off, was how muscular his arms and upper torso were. Then between his legs through the dark thatch of hair, though he was fair, she'd never had thought it'd be so dark down there. It had taken a while to get him aroused, as they had been told it would be. Their second successful attempt had been two months after Sybil's death, clinging together in their shared grief and their love for one another, rejoicing the life that had been created inside her. Life among death, just as it had been in war for many others. She thoroughly enjoyed his body but seeing it ravaged from shrapnel still angered her.

He had equally enjoyed hers as well. Her breasts small but perfect to him, and her well rounded backside. In that instant of vulnerability, you could only be yourself. He being the most vulnerable of all. So many failed attempts at making love. She knew how hard it would be, how rare it was for him to have children. She had gone into this marriage without any prospects of him promising her anything or getting anything out of it. _Mary. She has such patience_. He loved her all the more for it. He tilted her head up to him and gave her a kiss.

"Now, don't try to distract me." Her voice had a bit of huskiness to it before it settled. "How much do you know about him?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned.

"He is Edith's editor and you talk about the paper all the time, I just thought naturally you would know something."

"The way she talks about him sounds rather serious."

"You think he's going to propose?"

"I think so. Hence why I'm going to interrogate him." He felt like the big brother that he never had the chance to be. That was what brothers did, didn't they, interrogate their sister's potential suitors? It wouldn't be just for Edith's sake but for the family's.

"A man of mystery. Edith could sure use that." She said in a huff, laughter in her voice.

"You are horrid when you want to be." He didn't understand why she couldn't let her sister be happy. _The letter she had written to the Turkish Embassy. She would probably never forgive Edith for that. _S_he should. She's the only sister she's got left._ _One day she might need Edith, when I or no one else are no longer around._ On the other hand when she's being rude to someone for no reason, he knows it's not a personal attack. It's more to do with being angry at herself or she is going through something. Because he knows her. At the same time, her 'horridness' gave him a thrill, when justified, because it showed her strength. _Incredibly endowed. _

"I know but you love me don't you?" She already knows his answer. He would always love her, even at times when she felt she wasn't worthy of it.

"Madly." He gave her another kiss, a more deeper and passionate one this time.

She had slept through the bagpipes, even though she wasn't a light sleeper, she hadn't thought she could with that awful sound. Her body must have needed the rest. She had excepted that his would as well but he seemed to have a renewed energy. He was already up, sitting in his chair, buttoning his jacket. She hadn't felt the bed move either as he'd been getting dressed.

"I wish I could come out with you to interrogate Mr. Gregson."

He came over to her. "But for now, I'm stuck inside with you. Until they're done with their shooting. Before then, I'll be in the library to get some peace and quiet."

"Must you?"

"Only while you get dressed." For the first time he had dressed himself in the wheelchair. While successful, it had been less easier, took way longer and was quite uncomfortable. He'd prefer changing in bed but he hadn't wanted to disturb the baby. All that shaking around on the train couldn't have been good for it, nor had it been good on his back, which was still twinging with a dull pain. But he wouldn't complain. Everything seemed to be alright. No need to call a doctor. Rest was all she needed. He hadn't been concerned about waking her, the bagpipes hadn't. _A fire drill wouldn't wake her. She'd sleep through anything._ Though she had always seemed to wake when ever he had the nightmares.

"No. That's alright. Take all the time you need." It was selfish of her, she thought, to keep him all to herself.

He was sure to get another kiss before he left. She fell back to sleep.

* * *

He had grown up fishing with his father. It was where he had felt, at least for a few moments in his life, at peace with himself and the world, even as a child. He would go alone when ever it felt like his parents were crowding him. And right now he didn't feel crowded out of his own mind, another place for the quiet, to get away from where it was too loud. It was funny that just a year ago he could barley stand silence.

Fishing was a wonderful way to spend time with friends and family. Even strangers that you just met and become good friends after a day spent fishing together. That's why it was the prefect way to get to know Gregson.

The man stood beside him as he sat in his chair, his stick resting against the arm. He cast the line as far as he could, which remarkably didn't get caught on the rocks or close to the shore. Another one of his favourite pastimes that he was still able to do and with his children someday. Though he would need supervision. It didn't really bother him that much. It still meant just a little bit more of freedom.

Gregson was definitely a man of mystery. He was hiding something. He had managed to get it out of him without trying.

"The truth of the matter is, I'm married. Loosing her brothers in the war greatly disturbed her." A whole family decimated. "I had to have her committed to an asylum. It was only a matter of time. She was always fragile to begin with."

"Have you told Edith this?" He kept his anger in check. This man clearly didn't understand the definition of for better or for worse.

"Yes. I have no reason to keep her in the dark. Being open and honest in a relationship..."

"But you won't leave your wife and want to stay with Edith. That's a lot to ask."

"Of course it's a lot to ask." Any other man would have lost his temper but Gregson kept it controlled or he didn't give into such petty things. Matthew could at least respect him for that. "But what can I do? England won't grant me a divorce."

That still didn't make it right to Matthew. Mary would never leave him or be unfaithful if he ever wounded up in one of those places. He was fortunate to never had that happen thus far. _It never will. And mother would certainly not allow it to happen neither would Mary to begin with. _

"I am prevented from divorcing a woman who...doesn't even know who I am. Does the law expect me not to have a life until she dies? Would Lord Grantham? Waiting for someone to die is cruel."

"I agree. But I'm sure my father in-law would be the first to understand that you have to make some sort of life for yourself."

"And you don't? About having another life?"

"It's not up to me to decided how you want to live your life. But you can't expect him not to involve his own daughter when all you have to offer her is a job as your mistress."

"I'm offering her my love."

_It often takes more than love. _"You've been mislead by our surroundings. This isn't a novel by Walter Scott or Charlotte Bronte."

After they were done, Matthew asked the servant that was assisting them, to take his chair back up to the house. "I'm going to take a short walk with my friend here."

"Don't you need it?" Gregson asked.

"I have my stick. And we won't be long. Though I'll have to lean against you for support." Gregson was a little uncertain but was happy to oblige when he added, just hold out your arm." The two men navigated around the uneven ground, Gregson's arm linked with his. "I don't normally need to, only since we're on unfamiliar terrain. Unlevel at that, one wrong step..."

"Reminds me of being back in the trenches." Gregson said, a bit jokingly.

Matthew waits for the words to trigger something but it doesn't. It hadn't when he had mentioned his wife's brothers. So why would it now?

"I gather you didn't bring me out here to talk about the good old days."

"I agree that your position is tragic. I'm very sorry. But you can't imagine I would let Edith slide into sandal without lifting a finger to stop it."

"Will you tell Lord Grantham?"

"I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Are you saying that I should leave now, not stay for the ball?"

"No. Use it to say a proper goodbye. You owe her that."

* * *

The weather and fresh air was doing him some good but when he came down for dinner, he was using his wheelchair. Mary and Robert were both concerned about it.

_The shooting had bothered him and he isn't saying anything about it._ _He's hiding it from me again._ Mary angrily thought. Her anger was more directed toward herself, that she didn't stay with him, all because she had thought it selfish to do so, wanting to reserve him for herself before he became a father. His free time would be filled up with managing Downton and raising their child. She had wanted a chance to know him more as a husband before then.

Robert asked him if he was alright, to which he replied, he had taken a walk with Gregson and it had tired him out. After he finished eating, he excused himself to bed.

Bates had come down, catching Mary after she excused herself from the table, leaving the dinning room. "Ah, Bates. How is he?"

"Mr. Crawley says he would like a bath before he turns in, My Lady."

Detecting concern in his voice, Mary offered to do it. She ran the water for him. He managed to get into the tub by himself. She wanted to wash him, imagined taking a wet cloth and massaging it all over his body. Heat flushed through her. It still amazed her that she could feel this while she was heavily pregnant with child. Her need of desire and intimacy with her husband seemed to have increased. The desire shattered, when he said he would like to be alone.

It seemed to be the opposite with him, that he was turned off, unattracted to her pregnant body, apart from the kissing, and the gentle touches to her abdomen. He wouldn't touch her more intimately than that. He had been attracted in the early stages. Her mother had told her what women went through after childbirth, especially after their first. Your feet got wider, you put on a little bit more weight. He would still love her, she had no doubt, Matthew didn't care what she looked like, and vise versa, at least he never used to be a vein person, even toward himself. A lot of things had changed. The words 'used to" applied to many things when it came Matthew. He has a lot on his mind and he's just worried what it would do to the baby. She told herself.

He'd been in there an awful long time. The water would be cold by now.

She knocked on the door but got no response. She felt her heart start to beat faster. _What am I doing? I'm his wife._ She walked right in.

He had his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep but it looked as if he was dead. His face was pale white, gaunt like. It had become narrow. He missed the softness of his face, that round cherub face. The softness was nowhere to be found, even in his rest. She sat at the edge of the tub. His head tilted to one side, she noticed a few grey hairs at his temple.

"Matthew."

At his name he jumped slightly. His eyes were blank for a moment, filled with confusion. She wondered if he thought he was 'back there' again or had just forgotten where he was, like you did sometimes after waking up after a deep sleep.

"We're at Duneagle. " His eyes still stared, unfocused. "You fell asleep in the bath." She said, afraid for his sanity.

He finally blinked and then rubbed his eyes, getting in a position to stand. She moved to help him out but he gripped the rim and was able to pull himself up. She had to assist him stepping out of the tub.

He leaned on her while she helped dry him off. He dried his lower half while she dried his shoulders and back and head. Wrapping the towel around his waist, she helped him into his chair and wheeled him into the bedroom by the fire.

"I'll have Bates come in and help you get dressed."

"No. I can do it myself. Or better yet, I can just sleep naked."

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he smiled. A flicker of her Matthew. It was like after a long sleep he came back again, like a bear waking from hibernation.

"Sit by the fire for a while, you were lying in cold water for a bit too long. Besides you can't go to bed with wet hair. I don't want you to catch a cold."

"Spoiled sport."

She stayed up with him, reading. It would be all she would be doing in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Better start practicing now. She hadn't been one for reading books before she married Matthew. He was reading as well. She noticed ten minutes had passed and he hadn't turned the page. He wasn't reading at all, or really looking at the page. What was he thinking about? It was concerning to her.

"Did anything happen today?"

"I just tired myself out." He didn't look up from the page.

"Something happened." She knew something had happened in the bath too. Earlier something had set him off, for him to be using his chair. He had an episode and she wasn't there, was all she could think. Perhaps two. One in the bath but it had been a silent one.

He looked at her and licked his lips. He knew there was no point in hiding it. He set the book aside on the desk, turning his gaze back to Mary.

"When they were shooting. I know it wasn't really happening, that I wasn't really there. But I was there." She knew what he was talking about without saying. He thought he'd been back, in the war, though a part of his mind rationally knew he hadn't been. He at least had explained that to her. "Rose saw me. She...brought me out of it."

"I'll have to thank her for that. She's very brave." She saw his eyes wonder off, not really looking at her.

"I haven't...in a long time Mary, since Sybil." His voice was soft and low, a hint of shame. He shouldn't feel ashamed over something which he had no control. And disappointment. He had wanted to get better.

"I know." There was worry and exhaustion in her voice, wondering how many steps back they had taken, if she could find the strength to go through it all again. She must.

"I thought I'd be alright." He had thought he had it under control. He felt it slowly slipping from him. It took everything not to fall apart right now.

"I did too. I should have put my foot down with Papa."

"We can't predict these things." It was a profound statement, a harsh fact in his head, though he said it reassuringly for her own benefit. She wasn't to blame. They will happen and would continue to happen, no matter how long the gaps were. He was beginning to come to this realization, that there is no helping him. He looked away from her. He wanted to look at anywhere else but Mary for fear she'd see how much he was struggling, losing this mental battle. How easy the temptation would be to slip his mind away, back into nothingness. He couldn't do that to her. He just wanted it all to stop. What was there to stop? He'd probably be like this the rest of his life and there was nothing anyone could do for him.

"Should we inform Doctor Clarkson when we get back?"

"No. I doubt he can do any more for me than he has. I was grateful that Rose was there. I don't know what I would've done. Though I think I've frightened her terribly."

"She's resilient. I think she's undoubtedly smitten, so you better watch out. Apparently knights in distress is her thing."

Two episodes in one day. Though he wouldn't really count what happened in the bath as one. It was a feeling. A feeling of coldness, being suspended from his body. He had suddenly recalled lying in the mud, William lying on top of him. How could he have seen that unless he had died? Had he been feeling what his unconscious self had been feeling, lying in the mud, blasted back by a shell, somewhere between death and dying? No. Surely, the coldness had just been the cold water in the tub. But the other sensation he had felt, was he remembering, how it was to die? _Matthew the zombie. Back from the dead_. What a terrifying thought. Was that why he was like this? That he felt like he didn't belong? He had been denied peace. But his soul had not left the earth. It had been dragged back to his broken body. _For what purpose?_ He was questioning again. Why was he spared?

He had his eyes closed now, pinching the bridge of his nose. Regaining his composure, he exhaled, and straightened up in his chair. "How does the rest of the family think of the prestigious heir?"

"They all think rather highly of you. After all, who wouldn't?" Mary said pleased, as if it were some sort of accomplishment.

"I see the way they look at me, Mary. Their whole demeanor changes. Able-bodied people genuinely can't imagine what it's like to use a wheelchair."

"You are able-bodied. Some of the time. It'll get easier. Over time..."

"It's not going to get easier. I'm not going to get any better than this. " He motioned to his legs. It could get worse over time, for all they knew. He didn't want her to get her hopes up. He was somewhat accepting of his predicament now. He could never be the 'perfect image" she had of him, in her mind, the man he had been. He would never walk normally again at least without some form of assistance. Didn't she understand that? He couldn't be a proper husband and father. But he deserved to be happy, didn't he? It didn't mean he'd have to be his old 'cheerful' self again.

"You can't be all mopey like this all the time. How will you be like when the baby comes?"

"I don't know how good I'll be as a father." He had been having doubts. He had first chalked it up as a typical reaction of a first time father. But now? He'd never live up to the man he ought to be for his wife and children. A man who is expected to protect them.

"Well, it's far too late to worry about that now." She teased, her hands resting on her stomach. She was still months away. She was trying to get him to smile. He didn't.

"What kind of father can I be? If they were ever in danger...I can't run anymore. What if I can't get to them in time if they put something in their mouth, or if they were to fall?"

"You were able to get help for Sybil in time..."

"I killed your sister because my legs wouldn't work." His tone went dark, filled with anger. But he wasn't angry with her. It was towards himself. Hatred. Self loathing. Mary recognised it.

"I suppose you think you killed my mother, and William and Patrick as well?" She saw his face sour and she stopped herself. She had brought up one of the deepest painful memories and she instantly regretted it. "Darling, all of that was a very long time ago..." She said in a soft voice.

"Not for me."_ It will never be over for me._

So that was what he had been worried about, what had been troubling him. It had added to his stress. No wonder. He was afraid of what sort of father he could be, with his injury and the recurring shell shock of what his children would think of him.

The man she loved, he wasn't him. He felt like an impostor, only half living. "Our children...will always remember me this way, a partially paralyzed mess of a man who...who falls apart at the slightest noise. I can't even feel below my waist. I can never get that back. I won't feel my own child on my lap...feel you. I won't be able to play with them properly." Would they even be able to take him seriously? If his injury worsened over time with age he'd be confined to his wheelchair. They wanted to ask questions at dinner but ignored him instead. It was as if, when they saw him using his chair, he were a different person and they didn't know how to talk to him. Like when it was first believed he would not be able to walk at all. He didn't want to feel like this anymore. He didn't want to feel that way, with his children. He couldn't bare it if they ever were to look upon him like that.

"We'll manage." She simply said to him. She was dodging around things, like everyone else. "And we will teach our children to love..."

"To love people like me?" It was almost laughable, just hearing it. _No one really respects you when you're in a chair, or even have a limp and have to walk with a stick_.

She nodded. "Yes."

They would love him out of sympathy. Their love wouldn't be real. He never thought about that. "I don't feel...pain down there. And when you tell people that they look at you like you're less than human and you don't have feelings. They'll learn it from someone else."

"Then we'll tell them those people are wrong."

"Are they?" Sometimes he didn't have any feelings at all, not just no feeling in his legs. He wanted to be happy. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd do anything. Anything to feel. "Do you want to know how much I can feel? What it even feels like to be me? Pinch me."

"I'm not going to pinch you."

"Then kick me, then. Go on."

"I'm not going to do that either."

"Come here." He put out his hand to her.

She hesitated before she went over to him. He took her hands and placed them on his lap. He imagines the warmth of her fingers. "I can't feel it." He said it ashamedly and with desperation. "I can't feel you." He said softly.

She squeezed his hands, "You can feel this." Then she kissed him, deeply. He seemed to sink into it but it didn't last. It was over too soon.

"I'm sorry." He apologized. "I know I've been thinking irrationally and I'm being a bit harsh. I don't mean it. I'm just...I'm hurting."

"I know."

"The war changed me Mary. What I saw, what I did, I'm made different by it. I've been made colder."

"No." She puts her hand to his face. "It's made you more kind." She couldn't explain it. He just looked up at her in awe. "And I think...I'd like to think that it changed me too."

He reached up. She thought he was going to take her hand and hold it, but instead took it away. "I can never be your Matthew Crawley, not completely." He wasn't complete, even with his wife, and the upcoming birth of his child. His first child.

"I still see him. He's still here." She had seen flickers of him and they had been becoming increasingly frequent. That gave her a ray of hope. She doesn't believe him when he says,

"I only pretend. And it hurts. I don't know how to be him anymore."

"We'll find him. We'll bring him back." She holds his face in her hands. She feels him nodding.

They enjoyed the rest of their stay without further incident, partaking in the music and dancing.

A few months later, on the twenty-first of September, their son and heir came into the world.

"Say hello to your son and heir." She said as he wheeled into the room and over to the bed. He placed his hands underneath the little bundle as Mary helped lift him, Matthew leaning slightly against the arm of his chair.

"I have a son!" He looked down at him with such joy and awe and happiness. "Hello, my dearest little chap. I wonder if he knows how much joy he brings with him." He knows he's blubbing but he had never thought he'd live to see this day, that it would be possible. How long he had waited. _I've waited so long for you. _He turned to his wife, his beautiful wife, who had just complicated the hard task of bringing him into the world. "My darling, how are you? Really?"

"Tired." The baby yawned in agreement in his arms. Mary smiled. In sync with her already but she hoped he took after his father, not just in looks. "And pretty relieved. We've done our duty. Downton is safe. Papa must be dancing a jig."

"I'm dancing a jig." He laughed, tearing up, looking down at his son once more. His heart swelled with such love. How could one simply contain this much joy without bursting? "I feel as if though I swallowed a box of fireworks!" He handed their son back to her. "You are going to be such a wonderful mother."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're such a wonderful woman."

"I hope I'm allowed to be your Mary Crawley for all eternity and not Edith's evil version or anybody else's."

"You'll be my Mary always. Because mine is the true Mary. Do you know how very happy you've made me?"

"You sound so foreign." Like he's never been happy before. Fatherhood was already changing him. She was looking forward to those changes, to get to see a different side of him. "Shouldn't you be saying things like you'll be up and about in no time?"

"That can wait till later. But right now, I want to tell you that I fall even more in love with you each day that passes."

"I'll hold you to that till we're old and grey. Where are the others?"

"Still back at the house. Panting to see you. I had mother hold them off. I wanted to be with my family."

"Well you better go and telephone them. But first I think I deserve a proper kiss."

"You most certainly, certainty have." He moved to sit on the bed next to her. Bending down he gave her a deep, passionate kiss. He can finally let go of all the horrors, all the nightmares, let them rest. This was their new start.

* * *

February of 1922 was a cold, dreary month, snow barley dusting the grounds of Downton. Matthew had been spending a fair amount of time in his office, not at the house, but his office in the village. He shouldn't be going out in this. She'd confront him about it later but when he had come home, he looked so tired, she let it go just this once. She wondered what he was spending his time there doing. One night she had snuck out to his office. As she took out a book from the shelves and flipped through it, a piece of paper fell out.

_If anything were to happen to me..._was written on the envelope.

She stopped reading for a moment, closing her eyes tightly. _Dear God. _Those words sound like a suicide note. A lump formed in her throat but she forced it down, forcing herself to open it. She took out the paper and unfolded it slowly as if a sudden wrong move would make it burst into flames.

As she continued to read she saw that it wasn't after all. It was a will of some sort.

_My dear Mary, we're off to Duneagle in the morning and I suddenly realised I haven't made a will or anything like one, which is pretty feeble for a lawyer, and with you being pregnant makes it even more irresponsible. I promise to get around to a proper one, then I can tear this up before you ever see it. It will put me at ease that I have put down on paper, that I wish you, my sole heiress. I cannot know if our baby is a boy or a girl but I do know that it will be a baby. If anything happens to me before I've drawn up a will and so you must take charge. And now I shall sign this and get on home to dinner now with you. What a lovely, lovely thought._

_Matthew_

Not a will then. Perhaps he could have written one since then. Why wouldn't he have by now? With what he had went through in the war. But WHY had he decided to have written it, besides the war and being a lawyer, thinking he should. Did he believe he had a short time remaining on this earth? She fought the urge to look for the actual will, if there was one. What difference would it make anyway? If they had found this after something had happened to Matthew...she couldn't bare to think about it. She put it back where she had found it.

* * *

Matthew wanted to join her, Aunt Rosamund, Tom and Rose, at a nightclub that Rose had suggested. Mary tried to convince Matthew that he shouldn't go out in this weather, he would be prone to a chest cold that could turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. He ended up persuading her that they would be in a warm building most of the night and it would be heated. Mary had relented.

They had found a table in the comer of the room, not too far from the dance floor but far enough away from the crowd so that Matthew could maneuver his wheelchair in and out.

"I'm afraid I won't be much fun tonight. Looks like I won't be dancing." He stated as he wheeled up to the table.

Mary saw that he was uncomfortable in his chair. His legs must be bothering him.

"Darling, why didn't you say?"

"I had to get out." He knew he shouldn't have said something. She started fiddling with them but they wouldn't stay in position. "Just leave it..."

They suddenly heard a loud voice coming from the middle of the room. Rose's date was heavily intoxicated and was being obnoxious to her. The leader of the Jazz band, Johnny Johnson, came to her rescue, asking her to dance.

Aunt Rosamund gestured for Matthew to break it up. It wasn't because he was black. He was outside her social class.

Matthew replied, "They're not bothering anyone. Let them have their fun." Aunt Rosamund wasn't too happy about that, letting out an exasperated huff.

_March 1922_

It was a cultural shock to the rest of the family when Rose had invited Johnny and his band to preform at Robert's party. But not to Robert, who was quick to enjoy it._ No doubt that it has to due with Mama's American influences,_ Mary thought to herself. After the party she had seen Rose and Johnny kissing in the servants hall. She soon discovered, from Matthew, that Rose had been running off to London to secretly meet Johnny. She asked him if she could keep an eye out for her.

"She only listens to you."

Johnny eventually hit it off with Tom and naturally Matthew, especially Matthew. They had their own demons they were fighting. Johnny amerced himself in the world of music and it had helped him. She wished that Matthew could find something that would help him. Since their friendship he basically turned a blind eye to anything Rose and him got up to on their own time. And he was out with Johnny most nights. Come to think of it, perhaps it was to keep an eye out for Rose as she had asked. He had saved her from a scandal with a married man. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, helping people.

When he was not out with Johnny and Rose, or at the office, he'd be in their private library working on 'estate papers'. She wasn't entirely convinced that was all he was up to. Whatever it was he had been doing, afterwards he had been too tired. It was different somehow than one of his 'moods." She hoped this was just a thing he was going through and soon he would come back to her, to them.

He'd holder her in his arms but there was still no promise of sex. This night however, they attempted to make love. He buried his head in her neck, stubble brushing against her, burning and coarse against her throat just how she liked it, her own body on fire. Just when they were starting to get into it, he suddenly stopped. He made a weird noise that she had never heard come from him. Hot breath hit her as he breathed through his nostrils, it came in pants. Then one she has heard, a muffled, strangled sob.

She held him to her as he shook. "Shh, it's alright." What could possibly have caused this?

He broke free from her and rolled over onto his back. His body was ridged, gripped by an episode. All she could do was wait for it to end. When it didn't, she sang to him, taking his hand, with her other hand she smoothed his hair. Under her fingertips she felt him start to tremble again.

She heard the low rumblings of thunder. There had been the nasty culprit. Why hadn't she heard it? When the thunder moved away, far enough in the distance where it couldn't be heard, he put his hands over his face, rubbing it. His body relaxed. After he removed his hands, he blinked several times before staring up at the ceiling.

She scooched over, closer to him, as to where her skin was against his. To let him know that she was there. She started to massage his bare chest, kiss his neck and lied against him. He stopped her hand. "Not tonight, darling."

She lifted her head. What did she do wrong? "Are we alright?"

"Of course, we are."

"Are we? It seems like you've been avoiding me and any chance to see our son."

"You're just imagining things. Now get some sleep."

* * *

Violet invited Lord Merton to her luncheon with Isobel. Violet had suggested it herself. The old Dowager Countess was up to something. Isobel was just on the way over there when a car pulled up. It was Matthew. He was in the back seat. He couldn't drive anymore. He still couldn't do a lot of things but that didn't hinder him from finding new things that he could.

"Ah, I'm so glad to have caught you." He said.

"I won't be able to have our tea today. Cousin Violet's having me for a luncheon."

"That's alright. I came to tell you that I won't be able to stay. I'm going to a concert of a friend of mine. A cabaret in Liverpool. Rose and I will be going. Tom will be driving us."

"Oh, with that nice Jazz musician?"

Matthew nodded. "The very one. You don't have a problem with it."

"No. Why would I?"

"I thought as much."

"I'm glad you are starting to make friends with the world again and getting out more." When he said nothing else, she added, "Well, do have fun." And gave him a wave as the car drove off, just as Dickie Merton approached her. His wife had recently died but he still had his sons.

"What do your sons do?" Isobel asked him, as they walked to the house.

"Larry's in banking and Tim is in the diplomatic. What about yours?"

"Matthew used to be a lawyer in Ripon."

"Has he given it up?"

She took a moment, deciding how she should answer, how much she should tell him. "He was injured in the war. He's starting to work more from home now. It's much more easier for him." She stopped, the truth suddenly came rushing out. Turning on her heels to face him she said, "No, actually, it's not. He's starting to adjust but I still feel that he's still struggling to settle into civilian life. He's been keeping busy... but everything else...It's been rather difficult." _F__or him._

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's quite alright. He's finding his way. These things take time to heal and as you and I both know it makes you stronger in the end."

"I wouldn't know. Larry and Tim both served desk jobs in the war, so did I in the Boers. It's hardly heroic."

"But you all did help in some way, no matter how small."

"Many people wouldn't see it way, while young soldiers like Matthew put their lives on the line. I might not know what any of that is like but I do know of some that didn't come back quite as whole. How is Mary taking it?" Mary was his Goddaughter after all. It couldn't be easy. Yet he knew how capable a woman like Mary was.

"She's been taking it the best as anyone could. She's stood by him since the beginning, that takes a different kind of strength all together. But I do worry about them. They sometimes feel quite distant from each other." She stopped yet again, wondering why she had lain all this upon someone who was virtually a stranger. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put my troubles on you."

"If anything, I would be glad to lend an ear." They arrived at Violet's front step.

* * *

When she had woken from her nap, she couldn't find him anywhere in the house. He could be at the office. Recently he'd been wanting to get out more. When he wasn't at the office, it seemed he spent more time with his mother, that he'd rather be anywhere else than with her or their son.

Then suddenly she remembered that it was Sunday. He wouldn't be at office. Then where would he be?

She asked Carson. "Carson, did you happen to see where Mr. Crawley went off too?"

"He went out, My Lady."

"I can see that, but where?"

"It is a Sunday. He would be at his mother's." Carson was uncertain but he didn't give it away in his voice. Mr. Crawley didn't say where he would be going but that's what one would be safe to assume where he went.

"Of course that's where he'd be." She felt like a fool, not remembering that. "Thank you, Carson." If she left now, playing her cards right, he would likely still be at Crawley house.

By the time she had gotten there he was gone. He must have already left. She decided to stay and have a cup herself.

Mary asked how their after noon went.

Isobel's face faltered. Didn't he tell her? How could she not know where her husband is?_ Oh dear. _She hoped they weren't having a falling out. _But it'll be nothing they can't fix._ She recovered.

"I saw just him a few hours ago. I told him we had to cancel tea. Cousin Violet invited me to luncheon with Lord Merton. He went with Rose to see that nice young man, Mr. Johnson perform at a cabaret in Liverpool. Tom drove them. I think the world is changing just enough for people to not keep such prejudices."

_Not enough for people to accept a romantic relationship between a black man and a white_ woman. For her family it would be the fact that he was a musician and she was part of the peerage. She knew that Rose was doing this for one reason alone, to anger her mother. She had to figure out how to put a stop to it before she did something stupid, in which she'd regret. No relationship should be established on that. They should be your lover, your best friend. If only is she could explain that to Rose.

"It's becoming much easier for young people to stand up and speak out for what they believe." Isobel continued. "I think that was what the war was for, yes?" Mary was silently nodding, not really listening. She was worried about her marriage. Was he purposely avoiding her, their son? It showed on her face but Isobel wasn't paying much attention to see it, as she lamented back to her walk with Lord Merton on the way to the Dower House.

* * *

Rose had invited Johnny back for dinner but she had been called away briefly to go back home. Matthew thought it rude to not have him come, as he was his friend. It did not go over well with some of the guests but they respectfully kept their thoughts to themselves. Granny seemed to be the only one of the older generation to break the uncomfortable silence, willing to strike up conversation with the young man.

"Is that your real name or your stage name?"

"Yes, unfortunately Johnny Johnson, is my real name."

Then Robert joined in the conversation, that their Butler Carson was part of a two man group in Vaudeville, The Dancing Charlies. "Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have." He was a man of few words but more polite compared to guests they had in the past.

Larry Grey had tried to frame Johnny for stealing. Mary had been appalled that he was allowed back at the house after what he had tried to do with Tom, spiking his drink. Mary came to Johnny's defense. She believed Matthew that Johnny hadn't stole anything. Larry claimed to know a thing or two about Johnny, his father was a thief and in prison. Johnny said it was true. His father was currently serving time in prison.

Carson checked Larry's pockets, and revealed what was to be expected. After, he was finally exiled from Downton, but not before making a scene of course. They tried to continue the dinner in peace.

Larry, who had obviously holding back his thoughts, finally let loose his opinions, insulting Matthew for defending Johnny. "Of course, marrying outside of one's class brings nothing but disadvantages. No doubt the source of your bad influences."

"You know that Matthew is 'my' heir." Robert's voice gave warning, his patients wearing thin.

"What does that prove?"

"He's more than capable of running an estate."

"That remains to be seen. Everyone has distant cousins who are fairly odd."

Mary gave him a glare from across the table for his tackiness and insulting her husband. She only held her tongue because it was the polite thing to do. She was shocked when her father spoke up.

"How dare you!" Her father thundered. Some nerve, insulting a man who had served his country and had the scars to bear it, while Larry had cowered, safe behind a desk.

"Will you go, Larry?" His own father had had enough. His brother Tim, who had sat mostly silent, looked embarrassed by his older brother. He muttered his brother's name under his breath and shook his head. "I have made excuses for your rudeness the last time you sat at this table..."

"I'm just calling it as it is, father. As if consulting with Negros was enough. I know the choice of in-laws is eccentric in this family, already boast a chauffeur and soon you can claim a Jew." He glanced at Lady Sinderby and her son. "and added to the mix a washed up crippled middle class lawyer. It's really quite a shame what this family has sunk to." He then tells Mary that she could have done better.

Matthew had sat quietly with his jaw clenched. Mary watched what had to be agonizing silence for him. A part of her wished he would fight in her honor. But he was doing the right thing, not causing a scene.

Tom stood up abruptly, "Why don't you just get out, you bastard?"

Larry got up from his chair, "Well, if that is how you feel."

"I don't endorse Tom's language." Robert began. "but that is certainty how we all feel." Carson gave a discreet nod at Molseley, as if to say get ready for the toss out. Molesley was deeply insulted and upset for Matthew, whom he had helped care for during his injury. A man who had suffered greatly. Though he had felt like a coward for not being able to join up himself due to his lung problem, even though it could not have been helped. He still felt like a coward for having been grateful for it. "How dare you insult my guests and my family." Lord Grantham continued. "Your manners prove that being highborn does not necessarily mean high-class. Someone get him out of my sight."

Lord Merton apologized for his son's behavior as Tom and Atticus escorted Larry out. Matthew followed out after them, Mary not far behind. She could hear Granny's voice carrying after her, "You can always count on an Irishman for a perfectly timed and executed expletive!"

As she stopped at the entrance she could hear Larry still going off. "You're not fooling anyone. You married her to save your own hide. Don't pretend I don't know. I'd gladly take her off your hands. She's just the type of woman I'd like to get to know better."

She came out the front doors in time to see Matthew take a swing at Larry. He had been waiting to come to her defense, out of sight of the family. He was being the perfect gentlemen. But the commotion outside brought the attention of the dinner guests and the servants. Before anyone knew what was going on, Matthew had Larry on the ground after punching Larry in the nose. Insulting Mary had been one step too far. No one was breaking it up, enjoying the little scene. Larry got one good punch in, his fist connecting with Matthew's eye that would definitely leave a bruise. The force of the blow had turned Matthew's head away. Then something come over Matthew as if something in him had snapped. Mary watched his whole demeanor change. He was on top of Larry, straddling him, his hands going to his throat. No one seemed to notice how serious it was getting.

"Matthew, you can stop now." She almost pleaded.

Suddenly he lessened his grip. Something came over him again, Mary couldn't explain it, as if he was waking up, she supposed. The unfamiliar rage and desperation of a man at war that she had seen in his eyes returned to the warmth and gentleness of her husband.

Tom and Bates finally realizing, helped Matthew up. While he rested against Tom, Bates went to go get his chair, which only took a few seconds, as it was just inside the door.

"You saw what he did!" Larry stood up, straightening himself, pointing his finger like a tattling child. But it was clear, at least to Mary that he had genuinely feared for his life. "He tried to kill me! He's insane!"

Matthew lowered himself into it, Tom with one hand on him to keep him steady, while Bates took his place beside Lord Grantham.

"I didn't see anything." Stated Robert, turning to his Valet. "Did you, Bates?"

"No, my Lord."

"You just got what was handed to you." Tom was now leading Larry to the car. "and right so deserved it." He slammed the door shut once he had shoved him inside it.

Standing beside the car, Lord Merton once again apologized for his son, this time to Isobel. "It was about time someone put him in his place. Since his mother, it seems he's been filled with more resentment and hatred. I often wonder where my wife and I went wrong with them."

"Tim seems like he's a decent fellow."

"Tim's just a follower. He has no backbone, up until recently, I think he has tired of it as well. He always followed Larry around."

Robert called Johnny to see him in the library. He apologized for Larry's behavior and asked if he would like a job.

"To work at Downton? No offense, but I get payed more in a week performing at a club than I would here."

* * *

Johnny accompanied Matthew in the drawing room.

"You didn't have to stick up for me back there."

"I was defending everyone's honor at that table." Matthew said modestly.

"Still, you don't know what kind of man I am. What kind of life I had before."

"Who we were, was lost during the war."

"Who were any of us before the war?" Johnny's words sparked his interest.

"Did you serve?"

"That wasn't the only time I encountered death. I watched my mother die. I was four." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. It was an aneurysm they said. I was with her body for hours while my dad was ripping off a jewelry store. Blood doesn't determine who you are. It's the way you let who you've become affect you."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's not. But the world goes on. My mother loved music. That's how I found a way to live. You have to let life happen again, and laugh, and then, you can breath again."

* * *

She asked him that night before bed, "What did Larry mean when he said, You're not fooling anyone. That you married me to save your own hide?" Could it be something to do with Pamuk? She knew Matthew loved her and not only married her to protect her from the scandal. It could still come out at anytime. But if Larry did know, Matthew had silenced him. Larry wouldn't be talking about anything, any time soon or at all in the foreseeable future. Had it been worth it? There was still an unsettling feeling deep within her.

"He was trying to get further under my skin and it worked. It meant nothing." He pulled the blanket around him, as she climbed into bed next to him. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, saying "Goodnight, dear," before he turned back over, presumably falling asleep.

She wondered what had been going through his mind as he had nearly throttled Larry. Had he been in the middle of an episode or lost in the moment? She had never known him to be violent. A glimpse of what he had been in war?

No. That wasn't him. He was a loving, caring man, husband, now father. Coming to her defense had further proven that he could still protect them. Was he still denying that? And this behavior, this recklessness, was just him acting it out. The recklessness. He had become increasingly so, that it worried Mary deeply. She would never forget that night he came home, beaten.

It was raining heavily, the front doors swung open with a bang. She had thought it was the storm that had blown them. Johnny and Tom had their arms under Matthew, his feet dragging. Matthew's face was heavily bruised.

"Oh my God, what happened?" Mary came over, trying to hold his face up. He was barely conscious.

"We were ambushed." Tom said.

"Was anything taken?"

"They were after me." Johnny said. "Mr. Matthew tried to intervene."

"Call me Matthew, Johnny. You at least deserve that."

"This was you?" Mary's eyes were hooded with anger, directed at Johnny.

"I told him not to."

"Whatever you have my husband and my cousin Rose involved in, it ends now. I want you to stay away..." She could only gesture with the wave of her hand.

* * *

Dr. Clarkson was called to the house. As he put slight pressure on Matthew's stomach, he grunted in pain. "The ribs aren't broken but they are bruised. He was lucky there was no further damage to his spine. He does however have a slight concussion."

"He feels a bit warm." Mary voices her concern. She hoped it wasn't going to turn into a fever, that could easily turn into pneumonia or an infection. "He's been having chills." She had had Bates make up two hot water bottles and a flannel. That had seemed to bring it down a bit. It had stopped the shivering considerably.

After he takes his temperature, he adds, 'Just a slight chill from being out in the cold air. I doubt it will turn into pneumonia or fever. I strongly recommend bed rest. No strenuous activity and keep the room temperature consistent to prevent it from developing. And see that he spends time away from baby just in case."

"What were you thinking?" Mary shouted at Matthew after Clarkson had left the room, and she had firmly shut the door.

"I was only helping."

"Going out this late at night, as cold as it is." He knew how more prone to colds and infections he was due to his spinal damage. That he would carry with him for the rest of his life. And if he further damaged his spine he would never walk again. It was as if he was deliberately putting himself at risk. "What were you thinking?" She repeated. "Edith was right you can't be everyone's knight in shining armor. Someday it'll bloody get you killed." She sobbed, heavily. It horrified her that he didn't seem to care. "Your son needs you."

"He needs you."

She watched him, waiting. For what, for some sign?

She thought back to their argument back at Duneagle. He had thought he wouldn't be a deserving father, believed that he couldn't be one, convinced that he wasn't her Matthew anymore, that he was long gone. But he wasn't. As she told him so, he had nodded. Had been willing to try and let her find him again, that he could be found. Had he really meant it? If he truly believed that he was too far gone, she wouldn't give up. She was willing to get him back no matter how long it took.

"I'll bring him up to you after his feeding." Maybe seeing George would cheer him up. Matthew had rarely been to see him. It was like George was a half orphan, and Matthew wasn't really living. He had been over joyed at the prospect, at the day of his birth as any new father did. She didn't understand this sudden turn back into that dark hole he had managed to dig himself out of, or maybe he'd never been out of it at all. The only way to get her Matthew back, was for him to want to.

"You heard Dr. Clarkson. Wait till the temperature goes down. Then I'll see him."

"We need to talk about it, you know. About Duneagle and what happened the other night."

"No, we don't."

"They came back." She meant the episodes. "I think we should tell your mother."

"No."_ Please don't tell her._

She'd respect his wish, at least for now, but it had to be discussed. "If you don't want to tell her, we have to talk about it. We can't skate around things anymore." She helped him take a sip of water.

"I haven't had any since then."

She set the glass aside. He tried to adjust his sitting postilion but winced. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You should stay lying down." A moment of silence passed.

"You know I love you. I've always loved you from the first moment I saw you." He smiled at her but even that hurt.

"I know that. We were both so eager to deny it."

"I wasn't going around, intentionally looking to get hurt tonight." How could he explain to her? The rush of excitement he had felt, the potential danger, no regards to his well being, not having to think about himself. He'd try his best. "It's just...it's just like..." Words started to fail him. He couldn't find them.

"Yes?" She waited for him to give an explanation, so she could help him.

"I don't know what it's like. I just didn't care. I don't want to care." She took him into her arms, mindful of his ribs, and simply just held him.

"Everything will be fine. When you see your son." His Mary, his true Mary. He hoped more than anything that she would be right. As did Mary.

It didn't stop her from still worrying. She turned to Isobel, to see if could talk to him.

Isobel went up to his dressing room. "Mary's told me about Duneagle."

He was over by the window, looking out it. "What about it?" He was glad Mary hadn't told her about the other night, where the thunder had startled him, making him sob in her arms.

"She's worried, you know." He said nothing to this but she could tell that he was annoyed, one of his defenses to avoid something. "About everything else and what happened with Larry..."

"I was defending her honor."

"She's told me that she's concerned that it was more than that. Since then it seems you've been deliberately getting yourself into trouble. Remember when you had that fight when you were in school and your father and I had to convince them to let you stay?"

"This is nothing like that, mother."

"Then what is it like?" She watched him to try and determine his body language. She got nothing. He was no longer ridged, bent over running his finger's over the sill.

"It was just the stress of becoming a new father. I have all that under control now."

Did he really? Isobel couldn't tell. She wondered if the stress was too much on him, what being a father demanded, with his condition. "If you're feeling overwhelmed Mary and I can step in."

He then turned to her. "What else has Mary told you?" His voice was hard and accusing. She knew he was trying to hide his pain from her and something else. Was it just her or did he sound paranoid? Paranoia was one of the symptoms of shell shock. Isobel forced herself not to swallow and loose her composure. It was hard to tell where her son was at, mentally. She had to believe that he was fine. He's just annoyed of his wife's prying, though she means well and is trying to help.

_So she HAS told her everything. _He didn't like that they were confiding in each other about him behind his back.

_They're only trying to help. _

"She's also told me that you haven't been to see your son."

At this, he perked up but his tone also had a flatness to it. "I have."_ Son_. _My son._ His heart swelled, hearing those words, saying those words but at the same time it felt heavy, like an impending dread hanging over him like a grey cloud. Still a stranger in a strange world, he sometimes felt, an impostor, pretending for everyone else. He didn't deserve this life. He had stolen it from so many. Yet, he believed he did deserve it, his happy ending. William and so many others that had lain down their lives, had given him this life. _Their suffering should not be in vein. So I had chosen life._

"Just not as often as your wife would want you too. And you should."

"Mother..." He started to protest. What would she know? His own father spent little time with him but when he did have time, he let him know that he loved him, acknowledged him.

"A son needs his father. I could understand it if you explain it to me." She understood on some level, what it was like to feel despondent from your child. For her it had been because she had been afraid of losing him as she had lost the others. What was he afraid of? She tried to examine his face, watching his expression for subtle changes. Matthew went straight faced as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. She tried a different approach. "How are you, really?"

"I've been better. I don't think about the war as much, now that I have a son to think about."

"That you hardly see." She reminded him again, aiming to instill it in him.

"You know why. He'll...pick up on things."

"Perhaps you can talk about it now. The war." He shook his head. He looked afraid as if talking about it now would undo the progress of the less frequent nightmares. He didn't have any episodes while he was awake anymore. "It will help."_ It's been four years Matthew, you can't keep it inside of you for ever._ It would fester like a wound. She had hoped he would have confided in Mary, but she should have known of his stubbornness and kind heart would prevent him. He would rather suffer alone than to let others see him suffer. "I have seen war." She had been at the forefront of it as a nurse. "I have seen what it does. That night when you told Mary about Patrick, when you said those things that happened..."

"I didn't see those things." He said, softly.

"Can you tell me?"

He swallowed, hesitating before he answered, "I saw...people I knew being shot down in front of me." One of the things he had mentioned. She nodded for him to go on, that it was okay. "what the shells..." He swallowed again. "I went cold to it."

"You had to look out for your men."

But he wouldn't listen or let her continue with her excuses. "I watched bodies being carried away... parts of bodies." His horrified expression changed to a bit relaxed.. "You know what I was thinking?" He smiled and and gave a short laugh. "I couldn't help thinking, thank God, I didn't become a doctor." It changed again to empty. "I don't have to pick up bodies and try to put them back together. That's not a normal thought." His brows furrowed. He was thinking or trying not to think.

"No. It isn't." Was all Isobel could say. What would the damage had been if she and her husband had had their way and he had become a doctor? _How could one shuffle through so many emotions at once? Was it normal?_ She had to ask herself. The nurse in her answered, who relied on science, _Of course! Humans are very complex and our minds are wired to process tons of information at once. Sometimes that means we feel a lot of things all at the same time. It can be overwhelming, but it's perfectly normal._ It was this, she believed that made them different from other animals, they were able to think, too much, was what drove a person mad. But her son wasn't mad, just...fractured. There was a way to put him back together.

He gave a flicker of a smile. It should ease her but it doesn't.

"I feel better now." He said, leaning back in his chair. Maybe he was saying that for her benefit but he did feel something being lifted._ No one can truly understand._ She had seen them but she hadn't experienced it. _You don't truly know the horrors of war, until you have taken life, watched a human being die horribly, just a boy, his eyes pleading for a life that you can't return. You don't know._

He was being punished for it. First it was his friends. All of them died. The nightmares, the memories he couldn't forget, was his personal hell. First it had been his friend, Major Stewart. He tried to clear his mind but the visions still came.

"Matthew?" He had gone away for quite some time, away somewhere else. Saying his name brought him back from wherever he was. A sigh rushes out of him as he rubs his eyes, as if waking. He stares straight ahead.

"I can't tell Mary that." He couldn't tell her what he had just told his mother, or what he had thought just now, all of it. It would shatter their illusions of him, even though they already knew that he had taken lives.

"She's stronger than you think."

"Maybe too strong." He paused for a moment. "You understand why I can't see my son? Because I don't want him to see." How could he face his son, at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, knowing he'd taken a life of a boy about that age?

"He's still too small to understand and when he gets older, we'll manage it." Matthew looked doubtful. "I'll arrange Dr. Clarkson for you to talk to." He opened his mouth to protest. "Talking will help."

Isobel didn't tell her what she had said but what ever was said, it had worked. She walked into the nursery in the morning, Matthew holding George close to him. It warmed her heart. He was bonding with his son. That was one less thing to sort out. But they were still having problems. He still wouldn't let her touch him, wouldn't look at her with her breast exposed as she fed George. Though he was six months old, she was starting to wean him off. Six months without his father, without her husband. He had been there but not all there.

He was ashamed of his recent behavior. He had been a lousy husband and father. He didn't know how to be either. It was as if he was afraid to be alone with her. It didn't make any sense. He did want to try to be better, after talking with his mother. He would try, no, he would be there for his son. Emotionally, but psychically with his wife again? It was too much for him to handle right now. He wanted her and yet he felt disgusted with himself. He did not trust himself, with what had happened with Larry, and charging recklessly into that fight to help Johnny, not thinking of the consequences or his own safety. He had to start thinking and taking responsibility for his actions. He didn't want her to blame Johnny. It hadn't been his fault. He asked her to forgive him and agologise to him. He was allowed an explanation. Mary agreed, only for his sake of course, and she knew he was right. Holding in that sort of resentment wouldn't do any good.

Then she had come over to him, beginning to evoke the passion and desire in him. He could feel hers against his skin and all he had felt was revulsion. And for a moment, only for a moment, he wanted to sink into it, as she rubbed her thumb over his cheek, then traced his lips.

"Please, don't..."

"It's been so long since we've been like this." Her voice was longing, longing for something he could not give. Then her hand went down to his trousers.

He caught her hand and brushed, yanked it away. "For God's sake." How could see want him like this? Right here? Now?

"I want my husband back." She pleaded. He couldn't say anything. It was like something had taken control over him. "Please give me back my husband." She searched his face as if she would find him hiding there.

_She won't find him._

When he found he could speak, he had meant to say it softly, with all the compassion he could muster but it came out blunt and emotionless. "I can't."

She slowly backed away from him and left the room.

He went back over to the cot. "My dearest little chap. I'll find a way to make things up to your mother. I will find a way to make it up to the both of you."

"I believe you make a great father." He turned to the sound of Edith's voice in the doorway. "You don't even need to try."

"The question is, do I make a great husband. Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do. Just tell her that. That you want to work things out. I'm sure she'd listen."

"I don't know if I can."

"Then show her."

"She was always good at showing it, rather than admit to it, our Lady Mary."

"Hardly mine." She reminded him. They both exchanged smiles.

"Why are you being so kind to me? I don't deserve it. After all, I did send Gregson away."

"Maybe it was for the best. And because...when it comes down to it, you're still family."

* * *

While he lied in bed alone that night in his dressing room, he realised he could no longer go on like this without her, without her warmth, without her touch. He went to their bedroom, stopping outside the door. A force seemed to grip him, telling him it was wrong. He was reminded of the night before their wedding. He had snuck up for a much needed kiss. She had promised not to look. He needed more than that now. He opened the door slowly, hoping, praying that it wasn't too late.

"Mary." He whispered. It was filled with the ache and longing, he should have felt hours before. Looking over at her form, he saw that she hadn't stirred. Maybe he shouldn't wake her.

He went over to his side of the bed but he didn't climb in. Was it a boundary that should be crossed? Would she allow it? If she was even awake, he couldn't tell. The least he could do was let her know that he was here, that he was here for her, and always would be. Show her that he still wanted her. He wanted to be a husband, a lover. Just as she had hoped that she could be his Mary Crawley for all eternity, he hoped that, in time, that he could be her Matthew Crawley again. He wanted, so much, what had been rightfully taken from him.

In reality he couldn't truly be him again, but he would try. No, he will, if not, be a better version of the man he once was.

He reached out to her, touching her hair, that fine silky hair he loved so much. He no longer cared that she had cut it short. He had become accustomed to it and it was who she was, always adapting with the times. And she would tease him like he was some ancient cave dweller stuck in his old ways.

_Oh, my darling, I want you so. If you'll have me. I've been away for far too long._ He feared how long he had. How long he would stay. He wanted to make the best of it.

He got into the bed and lied down, close enough to feel her warmth. He heard her roll over, felt her arm wrap around him. He tensed, surprised by it at first. Her hand then found her way down into his pajama bottoms.

"I want to turn on the light so I can see you." She said. He did it for her, reaching for the lamp so she didn't have to stop, at least for too long.

He kissed her as she got on top of him, mindful of his still bruised ribs. "I want to be your Matthew Crawley. I want his life." He wanted his life back. "I want his children." He deserved it. He deserved to be loved.

She told him to take it and he did.

He didn't know if this Matthew Crawley would be with her in the morning.

When he awoke, he was. He watched her sleep in his arms till she came awake herself. She stayed there, smiling up at him. He had to share the joy with her, a smile spreading on his own face.

"Good morning, Mr. Crawley." Her voice was silky as a cat's purring. Which reminded him, he ought to try to talk Robert into getting one, on many occasions the Earl had said no.

"Good morning, Mrs. Crawley." He lowered his head to kiss her.

"Ready for another round?" She teased, giving his a chaste kiss, as they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?"

"I've brought your breakfast, mi'lady." Came Anna's voice on the other side of the door.

"Just a moment." Mary got up from the bed, completely naked. She strode over to the vanity to retrieve her robe on the back of the chair.

"I'll never tire of this." Matthew said.

"Me or breakfast in bed?" She went to open the door to let Anna in. "Ah, thank you, Anna." She took the tray from her, could you bring up some breakfast for our unexpected visitor?" She opened the door wider to reveal Matthew, who smiled and waved from the bed. "you wouldn't have had the extra work if someone hadn't invited himself. I'm sure Bates would want some time with you."

"I don't mind mi'lady. I'll bring up another tray."

"What was that all about Bates?" Matthew asked, after Anna came back with a plate piled with more food than he could eat, and left.

Mary gave a sigh. Though they had worked things out, and they were getting back to normal again, they hadn't been the only ones having martial struggles. "Anna has been avoiding Bates since Lady Melba's concert. It's been worrying me. I hope it's not anything serious."

"It isn't our place to meddle. It will sort itself out."

Mary had been their strongest advocate from the beginning, like she had eventually became for Sybil and Tom, that Matthew was now for Tally and Daniel. He wanted to take them as part of their staff if they ever got a place of their own. Anna and Bates too, they came as a package deal of course. Anna had been awfully quiet and when Bates came into the same room, she acted as if she couldn't be in the same room as him and vacated it immediately. Nothing to that extreme had gone on between her and Matthew. She wanted to help with what was troubling her friend but Matthew was right. She couldn't do anything about it if Anna didn't tell her.

If she couldn't help Anna, there was one thing she felt she had control over. She went to see Johnny to apologise as she had promised Matthew. Johnny told her that she had been right to react the way she had.

"When it comes to me, trying to protect Matthew, I avoid all reason in the moment. I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion without letting you explain."

"His words."

"I'm not good at apologizing." Mary openly admitted.

"No." He replied.

"Well, thanks."

"No, I mean, you were right. I was in the wrong." He said.

She quickly realized that he had meant it as a joke. No wonder Matthew liked him. He was an easy man to get along with.

"I wasn't involved in anything. That's not my sort of thing. But I knew we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead I stayed. I guess I wanted a fight, when those guys showed up. Matthew wasn't anywhere near it when it started. He was inside with Tom." He didn't know if she believed him or not (it was the truth) but he didn't care. "But let me tell you something, there's something about it, the adrenaline, it just washes over you, it makes you feel alive."

Mary finally understood why Matthew had that phase, that "God Complex" as she called it, only to herself, Matthew's need to help people, his recklessness after the war. It was the need to feel in control of something. Saving people somehow made up or helped him come to terms with the people he couldn't save in the war. It gave him back control. He was giving something back. Now it was her chance to give something back.

"You do know that she's only perusing this relationship to stir things up with her mother?"

"Yes."

"A relationship like that can never make for a happy one. And there would be the prejudices. Do you think you're strong enough for that?" Mary spoke from experience. She had married Matthew to defy other peoples prejudices and doubt's, not out of scorn, like Rose was doing, but out of love. Mary had sacrificed her own mother's ideal life for her to be with the man she loved, forsaking all others, for their own happiness. She had been strong enough.

Johnny believed that he was but Rose was not. "She's young enough. She'll find someone else."

Rose hated her for it, for the moment. But at least things were settled. She had other things on her mind to worry about, her responsibilities to Downton. She had the summer bazaar to organize, that would take place in a few months.

_May 1922_

Matthew and Mary helped save Downton's bacon, literally. They visited one of the pig farms late at night. Investing in them could provide a good business opportunity. It would bring in the bacon, so to speak. Matthew had said. He had gotten her up when she was settled in bed. He told her to get dressed, that he had an idea that would help bring in revenue for the estate. He wanted to show her.

"This late? When I'm already comfortable?"

"Trust me. Just get dressed." He even picked out her clothes for her, tossing them onto the bed.

She had to drive of course. He told her where to go but not exactly where to. The suspense was killing her. It was the pig farm they had been planning on investing in. She noticed when they pulled to a stop. She gave Matthew a look that said she was not amused, like a mother scolding a child that was trying to convince his mother that he didn't do anything wrong, but the mother knew that he had. "You really brought me out here for this? Couldn't this have waited till morning?"

"No." He opened the car door. It squeaked, making him wince. He tried to open it slower.

"What are you doing?" She asked like he had lost his mind. He got out without his stick. They hadn't brought his wheelchair, not thinking they would be needing it this late. And it was wet and muddy. What if he fell and she couldn't help him up?

"Hand me my stick." He said, leaning against the door, hand out stretched.

"What makes you think I won't hit you over the head with it?" After a second, she handed it him.

"I told you to trust me." It was said in a confident manner.

She opened her door and got out herself, trying to keep from rolling her eyes.

While taking care of the pigs, he watched her do all the work, sitting comfortably on a barrel of hay. He was clearly enjoying every bit of it. A part of her thought he'd still be doing the same thing, if he had normal use of his legs. She'd get him back somehow later. As the rain started to pour, the mud in the sty became denser, causing her boots to get stuck, the suction pulling them down. While struggling to free herself from it, she fell. Matthew went over to her. She put up her hand to stop him, she didn't want to risk him toppling over too. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

They both somehow ended up covered in mud. As they sat down on the hay bales, under the shelter of the barn, he took off his coat, "Here."

"Is it dry?" She asked.

He just smirked at her.

"What must I look like?"

"Like you belong in country life. Lady Mary Crawley, seen here to advantage, relaxing at the family seat in Yorkshire."

"Ha. Ha."

She did not know if he had meant to but he had flicked mud at her.

_"_Andromeda."_ Oh, he had meant to. _She wiped the mud, could feel the gritty bits in her mouth.

She playfully flicked some back at him, "Sea monster."

"Oh come on now. That was weak."

"You really want more of that?" She bent down and picked up a good handful, she smeared it across his face.

They looked at each other and started to laugh.

It felt like they were young children, sneaking out. It reminded her of the time they couldn't stop laughing when Lord Anthony had gotten a mouth full of salt instead of sugar at dinner, almost six years ago. Had it really been that long ago?

They weren't the only one's sneaking around. Rose came back into the house, hardly containing her excitement, she had to share it. She entered Edith's room.

"Where have you been?" Edith looked pale and a bit ill.

"Having such a dreamy time. I see you're furious that I missed dinner." She had gone to a servants dance, disguised as a maid.

"Why can't you just fit in for once?" Why did Rose feel so intent on being rebellious. It reminded her of Sybil. But at least Sybil had had some restraint.

"Should I go and make my peace?"

"Goodnight, Rose." She reached over to turn off the light. She didn't really want to bother to ask what she had been up to.

They were both covered in mud from head to toe. She hadn't thought of it before. What it had been like for him. She imagined him being out there, in the trenches, trudging through feet of it. She had gotten a taste of it. How careless she had let him talk her into it. Unless this had been his plan, not just for her to get a sense of what it was like for the farmers, but for her to understand, what he had gone trough. The being muddy and the muddy landscape could have sent him into an episode. But it hadn't. Things would truly be alright.

She drove them back home, using his jacket to sit on so she would not mess up the seat. "Don't look at me like that. It can be washed."

"I don't think that smell will ever come out."

"I don't think it's just your jacket. It's us. You can buy a new one."

Once they arrived at the house, parking the car in the garage, Tom nearly had a heart attack, thinking that someone had stolen the car. Mary, surprised to see him asked what he was doing out here.

He often came out here when he couldn't sleep. "Looks like you had fun by the looks of it." He vouched to keep a look out for them as they went back into the house, using the servants entrance.

On the opposite side of the hall, away from servants quarters, they used the showers, grabbing a few robes and towels for themselves. Mary wanted to stay in a bit longer. When she got out, she saw that he was cooking something on the stove.

He showed her how to make scrambled eggs. He propped his stick against the counter top and put one arm around her waist, (more for balance but she loved the feel of his warmth there) as she directed her hand. She almost lost her concentration, closing her eyes, wanting to get lost in him. She could feel his breath on her neck, but all too quickly, it was gone. He grabbed his stick, withdrawing his arm.

"Sorry, dear. Can you finish up? I need to sit or I won't be able to make it up the stairs at this rate. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." She glanced back to see him watching her. He was enjoying it. A part of him was using his disability to his advantage. But this was an acceptable advantage which she enjoyed. It meant he wanted to pay attention to her; it gave her confidence that he still wanted her. He would never use it for anything else.

"I can scramble an egg and make an omelet but that's about it." He confessed, as Mary sat out the plates and portioned out the eggs.

"I can barley make coffee and burnt toast." They ate in silence. Suddenly, a wave of intense emotion, that she could not identify, washed over her. Whatever this feeling was, she was starting to enjoy it, hoped that this would be their new normal. "I don't think Carson or Miss Patmore will be at all thrilled."

"They'll be in for a rude awakening."

"I'm surprised the he went to bed without the slightest concern about us." Usually he'd be up waiting for her.

"For you, you mean." He felt that Carson still held a resentment toward him for once breaking his Lady Mary's heart.

"Carson adores you because he adores me."

"I'm not certain I deserve that attention."

"You saved our bacon. Twice. Once literally. He knows that makes me happy, so he'll be happy."

Ivy, the scullery maid, entered the servants hall. Upon seeing them, she froze, not meeting their gazes. "I'm ever so sorry mi'lady. Sir."

"Please don't apologise." Mary began to protest, searching for a name. It was hard to keep track because of how many they had coming and going.

"Ivy, mi'lady."

"Ivy. Well it's about time we got to bed. And will you please tell Anna that I'll ring when I'm awake. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Matthew repeated as they passed her on their way up. Ivy stares after them, a bit confused. She shrugs and clears away their plates.

* * *

Rita Bevan, a reporter (and later is discovered that she was a former lover of Pamuk when Matthew has her investigated) attempts to blackmail Mary by exposing her tryst with the diplomat to the local papers. Mary refuses to pay the demanded £1,000, so Rita confronts Matthew, the information is already known to him so her plan backfires.

"Do you know who I am? I am not only the heir and future Earl of Grantham, but I am a lawyer." She shook her head. She obviously hadn't known that. "A husband and father first and foremost and I would do anything to protect them. You understand? And as a duty of a husband and wife, they confide everything to each other. Just so you know, I already know."

Her face fell, her mouth open. She closed it, clenching her jaw.

"So whatever your dirty intentions are, they're useless." He bents over his desk and takes out the checkbook, filling it out.

He buys her off with a mere £50 and the promise of legal action if she tried to blackmail the family again. He would drag her into the courts for years and sue for defamation not just for the blackmail. "I assure you that you'll find far more problems than what it's worth. Take your sorry sore ego and get out of this house. Even if you step foot on this property again, I'll have you arrested."

The woman had been visibly shaken when he had threatened her, when she had discovered she had no ammo to use against them. But it was more so the rage that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

When the door closed, he leaned over the desk, resting his elbows on the table, muffling his frustration. When he was done, he looked up, his face still red, he used his elbows to clear off the desk. Everything else he used his hands to throw. He was half tempted to throw the ink well. His hand rested around it. But then he closed his eyes, taking calm breathes. _Inhale. Exhale._

He was shaken about the way he had shouted at her. He had never been that angry toward anyone before, he barely risen his voice, nothing compared to back when he had had his 'moods'. Mary didn't notice as she was worried that more incidences like this could arise. He almost hadn't heard her come in.

"What happened here?" She saw the scattered papers on the floor.

"My work just got away from me." He went over to her and ran his hands over her shoulders and arms, "Nothing will happen like that again, darling."

"How do you know?"

"Believe me. I know. It's taken care of."

He was still struggling with something, she could tell. She wished he trusted her enough to tell her what was going on. He acted like he was fine for awhile, the way he used to be.

_June 1922_

As Anna dressed Mary for dinner, she noticed that she was quiet. She told her about the night of the concert. Mary sank down onto the bed, horrified, her hand over her mouth.

"If Bates found out if it was him, he'll kill him. He'll be hanged or be imprisoned."

Mary confided that she would not tell anyone. She went to out to luncheon with Tony to get him not to invite his valet back. Soon they would no longer have to worry.

At the bazaar, Tony had come bearing news that his valet, Greene, had died, that he had had an accident. She hurried to tell Anna the good news. How could it be good news, that someone was dead? Even though the man was evil and vile. They would be lucky if the police believed that it was an accident. _If_ _Bates found out it was him, he'll kill him. _Anna's word's replayed in her mind.

"You mean he fell onto the tracks and was hit?" Anna was horrified and relieved. Not only it was a horrible way to die but she had a suspicion, that she didn't want, who could have done it.

"Apparently."

"And someone saw this?" If there were any witnesses...

"It was rather crowded. I don't think anyone saw."

Matthew made his way over and Anna departed.

"You should be using your chair when you're out here. Clarkson and doctor Jacobson said.."

"But they're both not here, are they?"

"Clarkson might stop by."

"In that case you'll be my look out. If he does show up. I want to enjoy a short walk with my wife."

She couldn't say no to that. They linked arms and he leaned against her and began walking, albeit slowly.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked. He smirked at her. It was a smirk that said, you already asked me one. Her face scrunched in annoyance but it quickly vanished, becoming serious. "Your lawyer expertise?"

"I never thought I'd live to see that day, you showing interest in my work." He enthused.

"It's for a friend." They steered away from the crowd, so they would be out of sight and earshot of others. "If you thought a man was involved in something, say a crime or an incident but you didn't blame him, in fact you saw right by his side, what would you do?"

"As a lawyer I would have to believe he is innocent until proven otherwise and everyone deserves a right to a fair trial."

"I mean from a friends perspective."

"Theoretically?"

"Yes."

"Theoretically, you don't think he was in the wrong?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Then I would advise that friend to say nothing. Theoretically."

"Of course." She turned her eyes to the bright blue sky, having to shield them as the sun came into view. They continued on, peacefully.

They were back by the tent when Matthew stated that he needed to sit, that he was getting a bit tired.

Carson, who was within earshot, said, "I've a seat made up for you, Mr. Crawley."

The 'seat' was a lawn chair, Mary discovered, much like one her mother had sat in, after she had lost the baby. In fact, it was probably the same one. He'd have a bit of trouble getting out of it because of how low it was. That didn't appear an issue with him, he was glad to sit and relax.

A maid had appeared with a blanket. Mary took it from her and said, "Thank you, I can take that." At the same time Carson was still talking.

"I figured it would be less confining."

"Thanks, Carson." Matthew replied.

Mary had unfolded the blanket and was now putting it around his legs, careful not to make it tight above his waist. He still didn't like that and she didn't want risking him going into an episode. As she was doing so, he was not fussing with her like he used to. The way he was smiling at her, she would rather the fussing.

"I hope I don't look too poorly." The same maid had come back, this time with a glass of water. Matthew took it from her.

"Not in the least, sir." As Carson departed, Mary and Matthew exchanged smiles.

Her unspoken words were,_ See, I told you so._

While his were, _Looks like Carson's come round._

Matthew turned his attention to the guests milling about, squinting from the sun, enjoying the slight breeze. It was a nice change in him. He was, perhaps, getting used to it, his limitations, some of them at least. She was concerned about his overconfidence of not using his chair outside, she feared he'd fall. There had never been such an incident, thus far, only once, but that had been inside. But he seemed to have gotten the hang of it, knowing when to stop to rest.

Maybe, just maybe, he was finally accepting it.

That wasn't the only peace of mind that came to Downton. After several months of being arrested and imprisoned for Greene's murder, Anna had her name cleared after a woman confessed to murdering Greene. Mr. Matthew had managed to get Anna out on bail, then conveniently, the woman had come out of nowhere, it seemed, admitting that she had done it. Anna didn't assume that Mr. Matthew had any hand in it, other than perhaps convincing the woman to do the right thing. He could be very persuasive, even with his condition. He had probably used it to his advantage, perhaps making her see that he was vulnerable as well. She couldn't imagine him going out, tracking down Greene's other potential victims. Whatever he had done, Anna was compelled to be indebted to him and Lady Mary.

However the feeling of victory was short lived, as it paled in comparison when Anna losses the baby. But what if it had been Greene's, she dreadfully thinks.

_No. It was John's._

Mary had encouraged her to talk to Isobel, not disclosing the real reason of course, saying that Isobel might have some extra work for her. Anna thought it had been to take her mind off things.

The two women discussed losing their children. Isobel had lost many through miscarriages and a still birth before she had Matthew. It had been difficult for herself to conceive a child.

Anna had felt guilty that she had tried with Bates and nothing happened but when Green had attacked her... Didn't that mean she had wanted it?

"No. No, dear. Just because someone is a father, doesn't mean that he is a father. You and Mr. Bates love each other. That's all that matters. He would have accepted the child regardless."

Anna felt a little bit better.

Miss Hughes came to retrieve her.

* * *

"How would you feel about having another child?" Mary asked him. They were sitting up in bed late at night. Neither of them could sleep.

"Why do you ask? You know I'd be perfectly content if George was to be our only child..."

"He won't be for much longer."

"You mean...? "

"Three months."

"Oh, darling. How much this means to me!" He pulled her to him. He had never thought such a thing possible, much less they'd even have one child, just little over a year and a half ago. "I hope it's a girl! One that looks just like you." He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You say such nice things. You never used to."

"Don't remind me. That's the lowest point in my life, I don't want to go back to."

"I meant when we first met. We were so horrible to each other."

"Still don't remind me. I did love you from the moment I saw you. I was glad you didn't see my mouth hanging open like some imbecile."

"I was quite very annoyed. I thought you were full of yourself."

"I was." Had had been immature for his age, at twenty-seven, when he had come to Downton. Maybe it was because of how his parents raised him, as he was the only child, that had lived anyway. He had been emotionally stunted, only caring about his benefits and what suited him. The war had changed all that. It had made him grow up. It had also changed him physically, the gauntness had turned into sharper features, making him look older but not old. He had to get used to seeing a stranger staring back at him in the mirror. He had not just felt like a different person, he looked like a different person. Even his eyes had been different, sometimes darker with something, an all too knowing eyes. Eyes that had seen horrors and atrocities. Even at twenty-nine was too young. Things no one should see. But life had to go on. After the war young people were still getting married and having babies left and right, as it would replenish the numbers of the missing and dead. Where there was death, there was also life.

The war had taken things from him that he'd never get back. Maybe if he had grown up sooner, it wouldn't have had much of an effect on him.

_I feel like I missed out on everything and never had a proper childhood, or got to do things other children did. I wouldn't let my own children miss out. My children. It feels go good to say it. It'd never thought of having more than one since my diagnosis that it would be difficult for me but had still dreamed of having two or three. A boy and two girls. I'd often be running with them. _

_It used to distress me greatly and fret over what it could possibly mean. Not anymore. I could still be a father, rich in other things. I could find things that I can do with them. Fishing, throwing a cricket ball, I could still do those things._

"I never would have imagined that we'd be here." He put a hand on her stomach. "A little sister for Georgie." It still felt so strange, he had taken life, now here he was, having helped create it. At the same time he was thinking, maybe the reason God gave us the ability to create life, was for us to know what it felt like being him, creating it.

"Shouldn't we rather hope it's another boy? An heir and a spare? I'm sure papa would." She asked. She was more fascinated trying to figure out what he found so fascinating by touching her stomach. He had often did it when she'd been carrying George. _ He's proud. _

"That doesn't matter now. Things are different. The war seemed to strip away all that. Dynastic considerations don't seem as important. Whatever you think of the world, there is only one and if you don't try to fit in with it, you hurt yourself and everyone else. I'm starting to make amends with it. I want to make things up to you. We'll pick out something dazzling for you to wear so I can show you off when we make our announcement. Then we can have tea at the Savoy to celebrate, just you and me!"

"That sounds wonderful." Her excited tone had a hesitance behind it. He sensed a but coming on.

"But?"

"We should at least wait another month before announcing anything."

"Sorry. Right. I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself. I'm sure your dear Papa would be happy either way, just as I'd be happy either way." He scooted himself down further in the bed. "I'd still like a girl to spoil."

"And you'd spoil her rotten. And we both know she'd be papa's little girl."

"Rightfully so." He pulled her in again and gave her another kiss.

And he had gotten his wish on the 14th of December of 1922, Josephine Alexandria Crawley was born. She had the features of her mother, brown hair and brown eyes. She was already the apple of her father's eye. Even after the trouble she had caused being born, it had been worth it.

It was a longer and harder birth than expected. After having her first child they had assumed it would be easier. She had been stubborn to come out. They all knew immediately, with no question, who she would take after.

* * *

Mary had her hair cut short a few years after George and her daughter Josephine were born. It wasn't only in fashion, she had been told by strangers that she had the face for it. And she had it cut partially out of interest to see Matthew's reaction. Maybe it would spark some interest in him, get him to notice her. Not that he didn't. She wanted to surprise the whole family with it. There were a few gasps in the room.

Matthew wasn't really fond of it. "I never understood the fascination with those haircuts."

Papa thought it looked too boyish. "But it's the bold kind of statement that I'd expect you'd make."

And Granny had replied, "I thought it was a man, wearing your clothes."

"It suits you." Tom said from over by the billiard table.

Edith thought she was making a bold statement and that she had done it on purpose. She had just gotten the news that her ex, Michael Gregson was missing. Matthew cautioned her, that it wasn't fair of her.

Mary didn't really care what other people thought. It made her strong and confident. She told Matthew around Christmas time. They were hanging ornament on the tree. He supposed her was starting to get used to it. But he missed running his fingers through her long hair.

"I don't think I'd ever get quite used to it."

"Tell you what, if you still don't like it in the next three months, I'll grow it back."

" You don't have to for me. A strong style for a very head strong woman."

When she got it cut again it was because living with short hair, not only because it was becoming fashionable, was easier. It freed up most of Anna's time so she could spend more time with Bates. And she was told it highlighted her high cheekbones. She loved the compliments. She also wanted to distract from the fact that she had just had two children, although she had lost the pregnancy weight fast after Josephine. Josephine was born thirteen months after George. Two children under the age of two, she was out running, pushing the children in their prams, along with the nanny. Even Matthew started to engage with his children, to Mary's relief. He would join them on carriage rides, enjoying the fresh air. Everywhere they went in the public eye, they family was absolutely adored.

At birth George has always stolen the limelight, and now Josephine because her astonishing beauty and feistiness. They were both beautiful children, contrast of each other. George with his blond curls and Josephine with her dark hair. They were the image of their father and mother. But Josephine was her Papa's little girl, she could do no wrong in his eyes. Neither could his George of course. He spoiled them both.

The older they got though, transitioning to moving around more, to walking, to running, it had to be difficult for Matthew but he didn't let it show. He didn't want to waste any time with his children, moping in self pity because of things he could not do with them.

"The more I spend time with them, they'll think it normal." She loved him too much to be sad when he said that.

For him it had became difficult when they started to walk and wanted to crawl up everything.

George asks how high he is allowed to go on the swing or how far he is able to go from his papa's sight.

"Even though I have physical limitations, we want him to explore his limits like every other child. My...issues should never limit him in any way," Matthew stresses. "Nevertheless, he knows that he is only allowed to visit the brook in the forest if he is accompanied by the nanny. He doesn't run off when he is alone with his parents. I can't even imagine how it would feel if he plays near the water, falls in, and I can't help him."

George would lay aside his toys, climb onto his father's lap, and kiss him on the cheek, Josephine would follow.


	20. December 1923-July 1924

_13 December, 1923_

_My first child, little George is already two years old. Tomorrow will be Josephine's birthday, she'll be turning one. I'm not quite sure how time has passed so quickly. I am now preparing to give birth to my third child, in the new year._

_Matthew and I would be celebrating our third anniversary in June of that year. It was hard to believe. Three children in under three years. He's definitely been busy! Clarkson had wanted me to wait a year or two after Josephine to have another child._

_1924! It will yet be another year of promises. Matthew hopes it will be born on new years eve, on the anniversary he had proposed. Tough luck wishing that. It will be born in January, no sooner._

* * *

_3 January, 1924_

_I'm sitting in hospital, in a boring old bed, writing this, even though I should be getting rest._

_We decided on the name. Katherine. I wanted the middle name to be Eleanor. Matthew strongly detested that name and wanted to it to be Eugenia. No particular reason. I had wrinkled up my nose at it at first but the longer I held her, the name seemed to become her._

_'Katie Girl' Matthew calls her. Two year old George held his little sister with care, placing a kiss on her forehead. One year old Jo wanted a turn._

_"Me. Me. Me. Mine turn." She jumped up and down on the bed._

_Matthew tells her she musn't do that. "Mama is sore. You're too small yet to hold her. When you're as old as Georgie, alright?" He affectionately tapped her nose. "Or when you have more brothers and sisters."_

_She slid off the bed, her tiny lips pouting. She was no doubt feeling misplaced, about where she now stood in the family dynamic despite being only a year old. She will take after me, no question._

_As our family is expanding, it seems to having an affect on Tom. You'd wouldn't expect it to be him feeling that way. I suppose he feels pushed out and misplaced like Josephine. Tom has begun to feel in this sort of limbo, not knowing were he belonged. He's thinking of moving to Boston_. _I had told Matthew to try and convince him not to go, but of course he said, that he couldn't make him do anything._

_"The only one who can decide Tom's best interest is Tom."_

_"Taking Papa's only grandchild of his youngest daughter away, halfway across the world? There will never be another."_

_"He only plans to stay there for a year. Besides there's the other grandchildren. They'll keep their grandpa Donk busy." He kissed her neck, breathing in her sent. "We'll be busy."_

_"Not in that way." I playfully pushed him away._

_"You know that perfume of yours drives me crazy."_

_"Oh, is that all?" She laughed as he had given her one last kiss and flopped back down on his side of the bed._

_"Goodnight, darling."_

* * *

Robert and the family were down in the library for tea. He was reading the newspaper as usual. "Look at this. A man in misery."

"Who's in misery?" Matthew asked as he sat next to Rose.

"The King, according to Robert." Lady Sinderby replied. As she and Robert were still friends, she would occasionally join them for tea.

"He has to deal with the labored government. Why do you think?" He knew Matthew was a progressive modern man, from his experience, having helped with the estate for years, even from the beginning when he had insisted he would still be a lawyer when he had com to Downton. It was what he lived and breathed, and would be one for the rest of his life. Robert had come to respect that. His skills and expertise were useful. He has been helping manage Downton for a few years now, but when he got an idea in his head, there was no changing it. Despite their disagreements, he was interested in hearing his son-in-law's opinion on this.

Matthew leaned over to catch a glimpse of the paper, "He doesn't look miserable to me. What is your main objection to Mr. MacDonald? That the Prime Minster is the son of a crofter?" Matthew still believed that the world got on fine without aristocrats before, they could do so again. They were a dying breed and some day would be obsolete. He was only holding onto Downton for Mary and George. After that, the house might go to the trust like so many great houses before. He had discussed this with Mary.

_"But what kind of life would the children have?" She had asked._

_"Times were different for our ancestors, it was different from the way we live now. It will be different in a hundred years time. All of that we don't need to be worried about, we will see some changes in our life time, it will be unrecognisable by the time all three of us are long dead, in which it would already be handed over to the trust." A dreary prospect to think about but times change and the world goes on weather you change with them or not. "But Downton will always remain in our families hearts. As long as we're here, now, it's ours to fight for."_

"I could care less if he was the son of Fu Manchu." Robert said. "What worries me is that our government is committed to the destruction of people like us and everything we stand for."

"I think it would be a nice change to have someone in our government who understand the working class. And we shouldn't be putting our faith in the rich talking heads and a King, that think they know what is better for the people, and who know nothing about hard working life, they'd sooner lead us to war again." You could hear a pin drop as Matthew said this. One would except Tom to say something like that. Tom was smiling from across the room, approving. "Not that they actually would.

"I think we should wait and see what happens before we panic." Mary said, energetically, hoping to change the atmosphere of the room.

"Where's Edith?" Rachel asked. Her and Edith had a bond, border lining on a mother and daughter relationship that Mary was a bit jealous of.

"She's visiting one of the tenants in the village." Rose said.

"What about you, is everything settled at the school?" Rachel had also seemed to have taken Rose under her wing.

"What's this?" Robert asked, finally looking over his paper.

"They were swearing in Mr. Adams's replacement on the school board."

"I thought they might have asked me." Robert had gone back to reading. Rachel was smiling at him at this quirk, while Mary, sitting next to her was shifting her eyes, trying to pretend not to notice. It was obvious more than friendly.

"I feel guilty about the school." Tom said, "I ought to support it more."

"I'm giving away the prizes this year." Rose offered. "Come with me."

Robert asks Daniel to clear away the tea as Lady Edith had missed it. "The nannies ought to be down in a minute." He folded his paper and got up. "I better run."

"Oh, you're not going to stay and see them?" He appeared in a rush to Mary.

"Just as soon as they're able to answer back."

"Sybie can answer back." Matthew replied. She was becoming quite the talker, at three, starting to grow out of her shyness phase. He wondered why she was insistent on speaking to him more. Maybe he was the one she had the most fun with, being able to ride on his lap. "And George." Well, a few words and sentences here and there. Josephine, being barely a year old could only say one word at a time. Her favourite word was no at the moment. That had been Mary's first word as well apparently, and she would pull Edith's hair and run off. Thank goodness Josephine wasn't a hair puller.

"True. Why does she call me Donk? Can't I be called Grandpapa or something a little more dignified?"

"It was that game you played." Tom laughed. "Pin the tail on the donkey."

"That and it was your fault for letting her ride on your back like a donkey." Mary replied. "She wants to do that with her Uncle Matthew but I have to explain why she can't. She does adore riding on his lap and she forgets all about it. So I'm afraid it's Donk for the moment."

"Well, I don't want George catching it."

The two cousins walked in with their nannies. Mary noticed the other two children were not among them, as she looked up, blowing on her cup, asking Nanny Wallace where they were.

"Mistress Josephine and Mistress Katie are down for their naps."

"Just as well. She needs it. Jo, especially. She already insists on being called that. She needs her beauty sleep."

"Let's just hope she doesn't start calling me Donk. Goodbye, my darlings." Robert bent down to George and Sybie on his on his way out.

"Goodbye, Donk." George said, his finger in his nose. Nanny Wallace pulled it away. His grandfather threw up his arms as if giving up.

"George, come over here and sit." Mary called to him. He made his way over. His mother smiled at him in delight but he was looking in the direction of his father.

"I want to sit on daddy." As he was helped up, climbing onto his father's lap, George almost toppled over.

Matthew gave a small, "Oof." George had accidentally elbowed him in the stomach. He was getting so big already. It wasn't only that. He could feel the pressure due to the stiffness in his legs. It wasn't painful but rather discomforting.

"Are you alright, darling?" Mary sat up straight.

"Just my legs are a bit stiff. There you go, Georgie." He put his arms around his son as he settled on his lap.

Sybie, who had been showing her father her stuffed bunny rabbit, went over to her Uncle, noticing his legs pulled to the side in a awkward position. "Uncle Matthew, do they hurt?"

"I can't feel it but I can get hurt."

Mary confronted him about in their bedroom, an hour before dinner.

"Have you been doing your exercises?" She knew he hadn't been but she wanted to see if she could catch him in a lie. He was straight forward with her.

"Not recently." He was getting rather tired of them. The constant maintaining of his damaged limbs, drained his energy, that he didn't have any left to do much of anything, including spending time with his children. He knows if he stops them all together it will cause deterioration and atrophy. He wouldn't be able to walk or do anything at all and would be confined to a wheelchair or a bed for the rest of his life. It didn't seem like a bad concept at times but he reminded himself, _it wouldn't be fair to Mary, having to take care of me, and raise the children_. He wouldn't let it get that far. He'd start them up again soon. He just needed a break. She wouldn't see it that way.

"You need to. Some of the nerves in your spine are still damaged and they always will be. That's why they go stiff. They need the stimulation."

"I know, darling. I've been dealing with this for six years."

Saying nothing, she went over to the pull rope beside the bed to ring the bell. "I'll have Bates come up and get you started on them."

He didn't protest or complain when he got situated on the bed, getting into position, Bates grabbing hold of his leg. Mary and Bates do most of it for him, as he stared up at the ceiling. She had told him that they would do it for him so he could retain most of his energy. He couldn't feel what they were doing. He would never get used to people's hands on him that he couldn't feel but knew were there. He still needed assistance in and out of the tub at times. He still needed to wear a nappy, in case baring accidents. That, he could change himself and would let no one else, not even Molesley. He needed to retain a certain sort of dignity. Other than that he did have most control over his bodily functions. At least he didn't need a catheter anymore, those days were long passed. That was one less thing he could die from to worry about. In order to keep living he couldn't go out in the cold weather for long periods, he needed to self quarantine if any of the family became sick, which meant confined to a bed, which he'd have to make sure to change position every eight hours, and he shouldn't sit up in his chair (whenever he needed to use it) or remain sitting for more than ten hours to avoid developing pressure sores that could become infected and kill him, and not stay out in cold weather for long, in order to prevent chest infections, that could also kill him. Retaining his health was also a process. But considering how far he has come, those were small prices to bare. He had every reason to live.

Robert called them into the drawing room shortly afterwards. "We're to receive a village delegation tomorrow. I ran into the post mistress. And she asked Carson to be present."

"Why? What is it about?" Edith asked.

"They want to erect some kind of memorial to the war." Mary's eyes instinctively went to Matthew, who was in his chair. His legs were still quite uncomfortable, especially after his exercises but at least no longer stiff. She hadn't really needed Bates for she had long ago learned how to help Matthew with them. But she had thought if she insisted on Bates's help, Matthew wouldn't refuse. And it had worked, even offering that he didn't have to do much. He was still a bit exhausted afterward and she suggested that he stay in bed when Papa called them down. Bates said that it had concerned him too. He had come back into room with the news, after attending his duties to Robert. Matthew saw that he couldn't object. So here they were.

He sat straight as her father spoke about the memorial, listening intently. Every little mention of the war or a reminder of it didn't bother him as much anymore. They weren't as prone to cause an episode. _They could come back at anytime. But he hadn't had any in four years. Still just the occasional nightmare. _But there had even been long stretches between those too. He could go months without a single one.

"To the men, the local men who died in it. They're putting them up all over the country. I suppose they want me as chairman."

"I could do it." All eyes were on Matthew now. "I'm sure they would no doubt want someone younger. A bit younger anyway."

"Are you sure, darling?"

"Must you always insist to question as if I'm a child that can't make decisions?" He was making a joke of it but he was also frustrated at her constant nagging and worrying. "I know you mean well, dear. But yes, I am sure. I think that it's owed to them." He almost wanted to say that he owed it to them.

Robert expressed his honor but he too wanted to make sure if he was up for the task. But he bit back his worry. He was about to say something when the door to the drawing room opened. "Ah, that would be dinner. Come, everyone."

He spoke to Matthew afterwards "I wasn't wounded in my own war and I wasn't even allowed to fight in this one. They ought to have someone young and fit, who did their bit."

"You're being far too modest Robert." He poured some milk into his coffee. "They would want you to help. When I come to think about it, I'm not sure I'll be up to it after all, with looking after the estate and a growing family to look after. They'd only want me as a charity prize. If you want the chair on the committee, it's yours."

"Yes, but that is for them to decide. I'd still want you attend with me. A few other wounded will be attending as well."

* * *

That night he had a nightmare. It wasn't as frightening as they had been in the past, when it seemed real, like it was happening. This nightmare however, some of the details were clear, others were jumbled like a far off memory with parts, not exactly how they happened. Because of this he knew it was a dream, a dream he couldn't wake up from until he saw it through.

_They were being ambushed by both sides. When his men fell there was no telling in which direction the firing was coming from. They didn't know where to aim. One man stood, with one leg, in the midst of the heavy bullets but none seemed to hit him. He tried to call out to the man but no sound came out, his voice was covered by the stray gunfire, and the sound of machine guns._

_Through the smoke, another soldier came stumbling out, holding a blue-white object in his hands, cradling it. As he got closer, Matthew realised it was the man's intestines. The soldier collapsed a few feet away._

_He decided if he had called out, it would have given him away, and the position of the men, still lying there for cover. He remained lying down, hearing the thud and bullets make contact with their targets, bones splintering. It reminded him, of the thwack, thwack, thwack, sound he had heard, like an axe chopping wood but it had been men trampling over the dead and the dying, because there was scarcely a clear path._

_The soldier lying a few feet away from him was Collison, calling out for his mother for quite some time._

_The temperature was dropping. The wounded would be the first to die. The loss of blood would accelerate hypothermia. They would freeze to death. They would all freeze to death._

_He wondered how more Germans had found them. Had they followed their footprints in the mud? He lamented his failed duty as a captain. Had he made the right decisions? Would they have been more safe in their fox holes and their trenches? If he hadn't made the decision to move out, they wouldn't have gotten lost at all._

_When he woke, his body felt numb, his skin burning from the cold. The last of the German voices had seemed to die down. Collison was still calling for his mother. God have mercy on him. How was he still alive? It had to be the wee hours of the morning. He must check who is still alive and who he can help. He was about to get up when a single shot rang out. Out of the__ corner of his eye, he could see a figure, he could tell it was German. Bastards probably told him to stay behind to shoot at anything that moved. He thought._

_Matthew closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing to slow it._

_The air was so metallic, the strongest smell was the blood and decay barely masking the stench of human waste. You're never told what war and death smelled like._

_He opened his eyes, only once, to see the man shooting the inert bodies, in the head by the looks of it. Oh God, he had just been joking. He WAS shooting anyone who showed signs of life or to make sure they were dead._

_On the other side of him lied Major Hartford Forester. He had been shot through the neck, the contents of his throat laying on his chest. He had messed himself. That was what he had been smelling all this time. Your bladder empties as you die, so there really was no dignity in that, in their actions that warranted a 'heroic' death._

_From the last shots, he could tell they sounded far away, far off in the woods. He realised the longer he lay there, his own bladder ached. He had to urinate. If he did, he'd surely be seen, giving away the position of his fellow soldiers that might still be alive. He didn't know how many snipers were still out there. That would be an embarrassing way to die, with your pants down, and your willie exposed. You're more liable to get it shot off. He had heard horror stories of soldiers getting theirs cut off, by stray bullets or shrapnel. That was likely how it happened. Some poor bloke decided to take a piss at the wrong time. He needed to keep as dry as he could or he'd freeze. He would have to stay where he was for now. He was the safest where he was. He couldn't be seen anyway, lying against the machine gun. It had been a smart move. It had kept most of his body off of the cold, wet ground. Maybe he would have been qualified as a doctor. But he did not know if he would have been prepared for such horrors, trying to put mangled men back together or mutilating them to save their lives. When he had seen the poor blokes who tried to gather the pieces, loading them onto ambulances, scrambling to find which part belonged to __which, all he had thought was, _

_Thank God I don't have to put them back together._

_He started to count to pass the time. After he counted, he thought of back home, his family._

_Near him someone moaned now and then. Collison was still calling for his mother. Then a snipers bullet rang out and it stopped. Had it been malicious or had it been mercy? What would he get? A bullet to the head? Please let it be quick and clean, he had prayed it like so many others had. It was just a few feet away from him._

_His position was no longer safe. He had to hide himself. Quietly as possibly, he rolled off the machine gun, onto the ground. He continued to roll, down an incline of sorts till he came to a stop at the foot of it. Listening closely, there was a scuttling of leaves, coming in the direction of the hill. His attempt had been futile._

_The sniper was making his way over to him. He had to stay still, pretend that he was dead. He held his breath. He felt the man pat him down and remove his gun from his belt. Then heard a click. He's going to shoot me with my own gun. He felt him grab the chain around his neck. The locket that contained Mary's picture._

_He had thought, this is how it ends, he's going to strangle me with it. Then he heard the chain snap. He's going to kill me now._

_He'd try to first. Unable to hold his breath in any longer, he gasped. Sitting up, he went for the man's throat. But the German got the upper hand. Matthew had been exposed to the cold much longer. He was slower to react._

_"Nein." The German shouted, pulling his arms away, one arm on his throat._

_No. I cannot die here. This is a dream._

_His lungs began to spasm in protest from lack of air._

She heard him gasp, breathing in and out heavily as if he'd been holding his breath. Immediately knowing he had had a dream. She turned over to comfort him but he wasn't crying or calling out. He just lay there, starting at the ceiling.

"You know how they say that you wake up from a dream when you think you're about to die?" He hadn't died. In real life that wasn't how it happened. Why had he dreamed that it had ended that way? There had been many times he had come close to death, many other ways he could have met his end.

"Yes?" She asked, curious, but at the same time her breath caught in her throat. She waited for his reply but he didn't answer her. He just shook his head, putting his arms around her, the dream already receding from his mind.

Though one part of the dream he still clung to, one question he would always ask, why had the German spared him? He had been about to choke the life out of him. Or had he been trying to subdue him? Something had fallen out of the German's pocket. The locket. It was open, sprawled among the leaves. Her picture had diverted his attention. He had picked it up, mesmerized. Matthew had tried to take his chance and swing at him, his move sluggish, the other man was able to catch it.

_"Nein"_ He had shouted again, pinning him. He had said something else in German, probably warning him not to do anything more foolish. Then there had been another German voice. The man put his hand over his mouth and shushed him. His officer had called him Eckstein and had ordered him to shoot him. But the man hadn't. Instead when the officer was out of sight, he had fired at the ground next to Matthew. He had disobeyed orders, risking his own life. He had stayed with him, said something urgently in German and had left. Help had come for them shortly after. They had been found. If it hadn't been for him, they'd all be dead. If someday he could thank him.

"Nothing. Never mind. It's gone away from me now." He turned over, his back to her, going back to sleep.

Mary brought Katie up to their bedroom that morning.

Matthew sat up, surprised. "Look who's awake!"

"I had to snatch her away from Nanny. She is like her mother too. She's concerned because her Papa won't listen to reason."

The baby waved her arms as Mary held her out to father. "Oh, look at that. Come over here." He took her from Mary, cradling the two week old in his arms. "We'll know who she'll go to when she's gets into trouble. Your mother just wants things done her way. What she needs to understand is..."

"That your dear Papa never listens to me when it comes to business." He had had a disagreement with a potential investor, losing his patients, he had just hung up on him. She knew he was stretched thin because of Jarvis, still stuck in his ways as Papa was. And he felt like they were 'gaining up' on him. And he was having disagreements with her father that he should get rid of Jarvis because it was going nothing good for Downton and Jarvis would only succeed in helping running it into the ground. And Matthew wasn't sure if he could save it then.

"Oh, I thought this was about..."

"That too. And he should because I'm right most of the time than I am wrong."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Your mama wants to keep everyone safe and I do too."

"Even though your Papa is not a very good listener, he's patient, and he doesn't judge, and he's incredibly loyal. Even when we disagree and I don't take his advice and it blows up in my face, he's still on my side. He'll stand by our side. Although I know you're going to be the perfect little angel and not set one toe out of line like your brother and sister, I know they will. But you are never going to break the rules, you are never going to be defiant, and you are never going to do anything wrong. But in case you do, your Papa will always love you, all of you equally."

"Just as your mother always will."

* * *

A table was set up in the library that morning, the committee arriving at eleven. It was very fitting, Matthew thought, as that had been the hour of the armistice.

They wanted Mr. Carson to be Chairman of the committee.

"But surely, his lordship or Mr. Crawley?"

"No, Carson, they want you." Robert said.

"I wouldn't put it like, mi'lord." Mrs. Wendell said, but Mr. Carson knew far more of the young men that died."

"So did Matthew!"

"Robert..." Matthew started to caution him.

Mrs. Wendell continued, "But Mr. Carson had known them from very young boys. And he's a considerable figure in the village."

"What do you say, Carson?" Matthew asked, encouragingly.

"I am honored by the invitation but I shall have to think about it." Carson addressed the committee.

"I can help procure the land for you. I do property law..." Matthew was saying. The rest sounded drowned out to Robert. Mrs. Wendell replied something with graciousness.

On their way out Mrs. Wendell, on the behalf of her and his fellow soldiers, thanked Matthew for his brave service and sacrifice. He grimaced a bit. _Probably thinking it a bit too modest_, Robert thought, still stunned and disappointed. When in truth, Matthew was still wondering what it was he had sacrificed for.

Mary and Matthew joined Robert back in the library latter that evening. As they walked down through the Great Hall they talked about how the meeting went.

"They asked Carson to be the chairman. Don't bring it up in front of your father, he seemed quite sore about it, you'd think he was getting left out in a part in some play."

"I was once. When Edith, Sybil and I did a rendition of Pygmalion."

"Wasn't that in recent times?" He teased. He had taken his jacket off and had now slung it over his shoulder. The play hadn't premiered till the 16th October, 1913. They had to have performed it for the soldiers in late or early 1915.

"I think Saint Joan is still playing." They went in. Before doing so, Matthew checked out her posterior, (the first time he was properly introduced to her, his eyes had innocently fell there when she had pulled the fabric of her dress tightly around her form, defining her figure. He was able to do so now without any excuse.) feeling tempted to slap her with his coat, but managed to restrain himself.

* * *

Mary found that her father was still up and still in the library. She asked if he was really alright with the committee choosing Carson.

"They'd be lucky to get him."

"I think it's a relief. Matthew's got too much on his plate right now."

"What do you mean? Before you answer, I know it's not just the estate business or family matters."

"I suppose he's feeling a bit pressured." She thought it had to do with Jarvis and her father trying to crowd him out on how to run certain things. But bringing it would only cause a problem at the moment. "He had a nightmare last night."

"What? Jarvis did say that he looked tired, or did I miss something?"

"Jarvis knowns nothing and it was clearly an insult. It's nothing to worry about. I think he still struggles with where he fits in."

"I can relate. They don't want me at the school and they don't want me for the memorial."

"Well, I want you." Mary held her head high with confidence, "We make a pretty good team, you, Matthew, Tom, and I."

"Who would have thought." Her father chuckled.

"By the way, I've been looking into the crop rotations."

"Every man dreams of hearing his daughter saying that." He said lightheartedly and proud.

It was Mary's turn to laugh.

* * *

Matthew's mother had been spending a bit of time with Lord Merton. Matthew wasn't a bit concerned about it as they were colleagues, he had joined the board to support the hospital. Mary however was skeptical but she kept it to herself. She wasn't the only one who noticed either when Robert had gone to discuss his dilemma with his mother, she asked if he noticed Isobel's company with the Baron. He wasn't at least bit concerned either. "It's not for us to choose who Isobel decides to be with." "Yes, well."

Off his mother's expression, "You don't think she's keen."

"Far from it. She never tires of telling me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm expecting some company." She half rushes Robert out the door, who still has a biscuit in his mouth, hand covered in powder, practically slamming the door behind him.

Moments later her visitor arrived. Doctor Clarkson. Someone unbeknownst is watching from behind a bush.

The butler walks past Clarkson while he tries to reach for a piece of cake.

"Sprat, would you offer Doctor Clarkson some cake?"

Sprat turns back on his heal, lowering the plate. Clarkson takes some. She asks how he and Isobel had been getting on and if he knows Lord Merton.

"What Mrs. Crawley chooses to do with her private life is her own affair."

"Oh dear, I've annoyed you."

"No, no, no. I'm not annoyed. Although I am surprised to learn that she entertains notions of passing her time in drawing rooms and taking carriage rides in the park."

"Well, no one takes carriage rides in the park anymore. That's quite gone." Violet said a bit sadly. "Except occasionally, Matthew and Mary take the children. You must meet them, especially little George. Isobel just adores that little boy. She tries to spend so much time with the grandchildren. You'd swear she'd fight the nannies for them. Come to luncheon on Saturday. She'll be here, and Lord Grantham."

"That's quite an honor, Lady Grantham. Are you sure?"

"Oh it'll be fun." She puts the tea cup to her lips, "quite fun."

He wasn't the only one falling for someone. Molesley was head over heals for Edith's new ladies maid, Phyllis Baxter. He went to Matthew because he was good with women. Matthew had nearly spluttered on his drink and a bit embarrassed, "I'm not actually...tell you what...try doing something different."

"Like what, sir?"

"Well for instants I..." He scratched the back of his head. He didn't really know what to say. He was stuck thinking for a few moments, even looking up at the ceiling if he would find the answer etched there. "Can I tell you a secret Moseley?"

"Any secret is safe with me, sir."

"This isn't my actual hair color. Well, it was when I was younger. When I got older, it grew darker. I dye my hair, you see, thought the ladies would like it more."

"I never would have noticed." Molesley said in full honesty.

"Just do something nice for her and I'm sure she'll notice."

* * *

During the luncheon, Isobel wasn't blinded to what Violet was trying to do. She was trying to set her up with Richard. Isobel did like Doctor Clarkson but she would chose who to have in her life, at least in that way. And she wanted to be sure she had time with her son, making up for all the lost time. She knew he wouldn't want her to sacrifice a life of companionship just because of him. Then there was Dickie. Her responsibilities if she married him were far too great to handle. She wouldn't even know where to begin without having the family nudge in. Violet was already doing enough of that now as it was, though for an entirely different reason. She didn't have the confidence that Matthew had, which it would take to run a county. Her friendship with Lord Merton had to remain just that. Could she really settle into the life as a doctor's wife again? What would her Reggie think? He had thought he had been it. The end. The love of her life. She had long ago forgotten his voice but she remembered his face. She saw it every time she looked at Matthew and George, and little Katie. She didn't have to think twice then. She knew he would have wanted the best for her.

That same afternoon, Tom and Mary went out to hunt rabbits for Miss Patmore. Matthew decided to tag along.

"Tom, what are your America plans?" He asked him.

"Oh, I don't know. Nothing's fixed yet. But never fear. You know that Mary is more than ready to manage without me." All three of them laughed but quietly enough not to scare off the rabbits.

He didn't even flinch when Tom's rifle discharged, the bullet cracking though the air as it broke the speed of sound. It hit it's target dead on.

"That's it. Got cha." He handed his rifle to Matthew.

"What do you think, being left alone to control your dear papa?"

"I won't be on my own. I still have you. We had a talk and it's safe to say I understand him better now and I think he'd say the same of me."

"Good to see he's not fighting all changes then." They started walking along behind Tom.

"I want to approve on how we sell our grain. If I can argue a case for it, he'll agree."

"Who's thinking with their lawyer brain now?"

She was looking down at the ground smiling. "He has decided to live in the present and not spend his life regretting the past or dreading the future."

"Live by example. That's my motto."

"Do you dread the future?" The war had taught them not to expect anything. Not knowing the future and what it could bring could be a dreadful and fearful thing itself.

"I only dread a future without you."

She brought her head up to look at him. They both smiled. She felt young again. As if they only just married. She hopes to feel that way everyday with him.

Tom ran back up to them, two rabbits in his hand. He looked at his watch as a bell chimed in the distance. "Clock's running fast." He said.

"We ought to get back." Mary agreed.

* * *

Molesley decided to dye his hair, and it payed off. Miss Patmore was basically hovering over him downstairs, throwing peculiar glances his way. "Have you done something to your hair?" She finally asked.

"I dyed it."

"What gave you a crack pot idea like that?"

"I think it looks nice, Mr. Molesley." Baxter said, looking up from her sewing with a smile. Molesley smiled back with confidence but not too confident.

He came up to dress Matthew for dinner. Before he left, he turned back, giving him a thumps up, when Mary's back was turned but she turned back around in time to see it. He dashed off.

"What was that about?" Mary asked as she finished putting in her earnings.

"Nothing, dear. Just helped him with a problem."

"Helping the help is not what we do, darling. They're not our friends. If that's how it was, they'd be out of work."

"Anna is yours."

"Yes. I'm a hypocrite. You can punish me later." She gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm only joking."

"On which part?"

She just smiled at him mischievously, meaning for him to guess. The corners of her mouth turned into a frown, "When we were out with Tom shooting earlier, it didn't bother you. Do you think..."

"Of course it still bother's me." The uncomfortableness of his heart racing, the anxiety, had been like pin pricks against his skin, as he had fought the urge to look around for Germans, that he knew weren't there. He had maintained control of his breathing, counting each shot. "I counted."

"What?"

"I counted how many times he fired. It helped. And you help even more." He returned her kiss.

_Living with this has been painful but she made it all the more bearable. It was also exhausting, finding and staying with a routine that worked. You pull into yourself and develop a routine that doesn't necessitate the need to go out and interact with people often. You learn how to put on a mask to hide so that you seem normal when you do have to go out, but wearing it is incredibly exhausting._ _I never used to want to go out. My family tried to encourage me to go out, saying that "it will be good for me." I know they had meant well, but they were only pushing me away. I now only go out when I have to, when it is necessary, to avoid having to put on the Matthew Crawley mask, which was also exhausting. I don't have to in front of her, at least not anymore._

_People don't understand,_ _are surprised when they realize the incredible, fortress-esq boundaries you have. They would never have pegged you for someone with crippling anxiety and depression. It was more difficult to deal with than my initial injury. They would have never, in a million years, have thought you were as scared as you are._

_Every day is a work in progress and I still have issues. The difference now is that I've learned, am still learning, to use coping skills and other techniques to prevent being triggered into an episode. And the heavy brain fog that had come with it, that I had the first three years since my return, losing a few minutes, or a full day, and sense of time. This too is very, very slowly starting to lift. _

_So… It's not all bad. After a while you get used to it. You live your life. Every year, you creep toward progress, and I have to assume that I will be okay someday. Maybe not how I used to be, the man I was, but okay._

_But with a sad revelation, I realize I don't miss him that much anymore._

* * *

Lady Anstruther and her niece Princess Amelia were to attend dinner that night. James, O'Brien's nephew used to work for her. Three out of the seven of O'Brien's nephew's (and one niece) had passed through Downton's doors. Though O'Brien herself didn't work at Downtown anymore, when she had left in 1922, Daniel and Jimmy still remained. Alfred had left a few years before. Rose had invited Sarah Bunting, a teacher from the school and Tom's friend. Robert was displeased that she was there, due to a misunderstanding. But it would be proved that he had been right not to like her.

"Lady Anstruther do you know our footman, Kent?" Matthew asked. He didn't mind dinning in front of strangers, he didn't have to hide that much, as they hadn't known him before, they had nothing to compare to. He had taken notice of the exchange between her and Kent; it had peeked his interest and it seemed far too intimate a gesture, the way she had brushed his arm as he had bent down to serve her. Mary had been the first one to point it out, nudging him to look in their direction.

"He used to work for me. It's always nice to see a friendly face."

"Especially a pretty face." Mary said, leaning back over in Matthew's direction.

"I'm not convinced these memorials are a good idea but I suppose that's a different issue." Miss Bunting said.

"Why not? " Matthew asked. "Won't they give people a focus for their sorrow?

"And a reminder of the sacrifices that were made?" Mary added.

"Most of the men come back deeply scarred or a bundle of nerves. Just look at your husband." She directed the last statement to Mary. Everyone was completely silent now, except the clattering of cutlery. "Don't pretend like any of you don't know. Do you really want to honor that? That's reminder enough."

"I think it's an efficient and respectful way to remember those who lost their lives." Matthew said, a bit quietly, hiding his frustration. "and don't have a grave, a place where their families can go to." As for her statement about him, he was a bit pale but that was because he hadn't been getting any sun since the cold weather. That could give the appearance that he was unwell. But now that it was warmer, he'd be able to get out more.

"If it were a memorial service, then I might agree, but a stone edifice in the center of the green to remind us for ever of death and a pointless war? What's the good of that? To say nothing of the waste of money."

She was insulting him, that she thought his sacrifice hadn't been worth it. The war should be enough of a reminder, he was living proof. She had to be referring to his injury not the effect it had on him mentally. Only a handful people at the table knew, hence part of the tension, like it was some unsavory scandal if discovered. No, she couldn't possibly know.

_The memorial would be a reminder. What difference would it make? _He nearly scoffed about it. _Memorial or not, I will always be a reminder. But those men should be honored. It wasn't their fault that they were dragged into another man's war. But It's not really about them, is it? Their families are the one's also effected. They are also survivors. Do you think it is owed to them?_

He held back. He had to be the gentleman in this situation. Robert, however did not hold back.

"Forgive me but you are talking nonsense!" Robert said. Insulting his belief's was far enough but insulting Matthew and all those men who died?

"All I'm saying is, millions of men are dead and there is no more justice than there was before."

Another fork clattered onto a plate. Isobel's. "Unless you have seen war at first hand, you have no place in saying such things. My son has sacrificed as much as those men and they deserved to be remembered. And unless you have a son, your only child, sent off to war, and you see him come close to death..."

"Mother, you don't have to..."

"But do we really know what it was all for?" Tom asked. "Was it really worth it?" He hated that it had made his friend suffer and for what? "All it did was start the Russian revolution, which you hate." He directed the last bit toward Robert.

"You are wrong, both of you!" Robert began, waving his hand at Tom and Miss Bunting.

"What I was going to say is, that the war lied waste to a great number of men, a whole generation." Tom continued from where he had left off. "We should still honor them and the one's still effected by it."

"I didn't mean any offense." Miss Bunting apologized but it was little too late and in vain. No one was buying her sudden generosity. "I do honor them. There are other way's to. I think it's a pity they didn't want either of you on their committee. They should have least considered you, Mr. Crawley. You can put up a stout of defense of their intentions."

"Seeing as he is a lawyer. He ought to." Mary said, cleaver enough to hide some of her smartness.

"As it happens, I'm to look into a plot of land for the memorial. And since they chose Carson, I don't doubt their decision and I think Mr. Carson is more than capable for the task, right Carson?"

Carson nodded. "Yes, Mr. Matthew. And they do want his lordship on the committee, as their patron. I meant to tell you mi'lord."

"I should be glad to accept."

"Now if you can all put your swords away, perhaps we can finish out dinner in a civilized manner." Violet always the voice of reason during situations like this.

The little party gathered in the drawing room.

Isobel was sitting next to Mary. Mary asked how her visit with her grandmother went earlier in the evening.

"I quite enjoyed myself." Her mother in-law replied. Her words had a double meaning.

"You get on with Lord Merton, I know that."

"I do but Cousin Violet had other plans for him at the luncheon."

Mary didn't have the energy to notice or ask what she meant by that, having just come from taking care of Matthew and checking in on the children. "Where is Granny?"

"She wanted to slip away. The day of parties has taken it's toll."

"So it has on Matthew."

"I hope he's not taking it too harshly. People need to know that the damage really never goes away but they can go back to working in society and find a place in the world again."

"I quite agree. I want to thank you, for what you did for Matthew..."

"No need." She patted Mary's hand and took hold of it, in a way that said, _ I'm his mother, that's my job. _

"He went to go lie down to rest for a moment. I just don't know if he's ready for..." She was cut off when Matthew entered the room. She got up and went over to him, leading him back over to the couch.

"Before I go, I want to meet the staff downstairs." Sarah told Tom; he was about to see her out.

"Don't you think you've made enough of a statement for one evening?" He might not know where he fit in, where his place was in this family, but he knew his place was to stand up for his best friend, his brother, who had stood up for him. He was his best man, still long after his and Mary's wedding. They didn't stop being friends just because of that, which Tom had thought, that he'd go back on his word, just like the rest of them, and he'd just go back to being the chauffeur that married the Earl's daughter. But no, Matthew wasn't like that. He had felt ashamed for ever to have thought that. They were the 'We won't let them change us, pals." He owed Matthew this for having had doubted, even though they hadn't been spending any personal time together lately, holding off any real conversation. He understood that Matthew needed more time. There were things he was still dealing with that he couldn't even tell him about.

"What about you?" Sarah had caught him there. He hadn't been exactly innocent himself.

He admitted to himself that he was guilty as sin for doing the exact same thing but he never exploit someone's pain like that. That was where he drew the line. "I know I got a bit carried away but I would never...Outing his deepest darkest pain like that, in front of everyone, just to get your point across? It took a lot for him to get where he is. And a fine time recovering to."

"If you call that recovering." His mind is scarred for ever. There was no coming back from that. She went to turn away.

Tom grabbed her arm, "Matthew Crawley is the best damn man and the bravest if I've ever saw one. If he hadn't had fought for me when I was almost fired, for the very intolerance that you're displaying now, I wouldn't have met the love of my life or have my daughter. He and this family made me a better man. And I would do anything for them. You're just a reminder of what I used to be." He was telling Robert the same thing an hour later.

"If Miss Bunting brought back those feelings of you being a rebel and a hater..."

"She's not the one for me. I know. And I could never be those things again. I could never hate anyone. Least of all you."

Matthew wanted to go away to London for their anniversary. It was decided that the memorial would be in the center of town, Tom would keep Robert in line, they had enough nannies and the children would have their Donk to spoil them, so they had nothing to worry about. Isobel was thrilled to be spending time with them. "George and Josephine are coming on so fast. It's wonderful how they seem to change, week by week at their age."

"Careful, mother. The way you go on about comparing them, you'd think they were twins."

"With what a handful they are, they might as well be." Mary replied. "George is rather sweet, isn't he? It's Jo you have to watch out for. She can be a little terror when she wants to. It's usually when they both start going..." When they teamed up it was like they WERE twins.

"Katie is still at the quiet, well behaved stage." Matthew beamed.

"She is only five months old." Mary reminded him that she wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Katie does look so cute when she falls asleep, pulling on her ear, all scrunched up with her feet tucked underneath her..." Rose started to say but Mary cut across her,

"George did the exact same thing."

"bottom." Rose finished, speaking at the same time.

"Interesting. Mary used to do that too." Edith said, attempting to embarrass her older sister. "You had the same amount of hair too."

Matthew was smiling, wiping his eye, which was watering. From finding it hilarious and amusing or cute? Mary scoured at him from cross the table but couldn't keep herself from smiling.

Isobel joined in the chatter, Matthew used to fall asleep in all sorts of awkward positions." Matthew nearly flushed at this. He was grateful when Robert steered the conversation in a different direction. He started to discuss the paintings, that he knows an art historian who is writing a book on Della Francesca. "He wasn't aware we had one of his paintings here at Downtown. It could inflate the value of it considerably. As much as I would hate to part with it, it would bring in further profit for the estate."

After he had finished, Isobel went on to talk about the changes at the hospital and with the successful first use of insulin, diabetes would no longer be death sentence.

Anna helped pack Mary's suitcase the night before her and Matthew's departure for London. She asked Anna to buy something for her, so their wouldn't be any consequences. It took several seconds for her to get at what she meant.

"I have three children already. I'm sure Matthew will want another boy down the line, but not soon enough if I can help it."

"But what will I know what to buy?" Mary went over to her dresser drawer and took out a book.

* * *

1924, saw many changes coming to the great house. The village hospital was doing well, as was Downton, with Robert might having a fair price offered for the Della Francesca (he had dreaded to part from it as it had been in the family since the 1700's when the third Earl had bought it as a young man in France) and the radio was the biggest technical marvel. It took some time to convince Robert to get one, well Rose tried to convince him. Matthew preferred the sound from the gramophone.

Rose said, "but the sound is so much clear on the radio and you can listen to anything you want. Not just music."

"Just imagine, information broadcast over the world." Edith had agreed. Matthew looked appalled and betrayed as Edith had enjoyed the gramophone just as much has he did. His expression had the girls laughing. It had embarrassed his so, that he had left in a huff.

"Men and their old fashioned ways." Mary sighed, playfully. "Always the same with each generation."

She had caught Matthew listening to it. He tried to bluff his way out of it, which Mary had thought hilarious, she had laughed at him.

The servants also gathered around it as it was being set up. Clarkson found it's presence disturbing. Isobel, being the modern woman she was, accepted it. Violet also enjoyed it but she thought hearing the royal family took away the mystery.

Miss Patmore received a letter, that her nephew would be denied his place on her home village's memorial, as he was shot for cowardice. She asked Miss Hughes to try to convince Carson to have the committee to put his name on theirs.

"Add the name of a coward to our memorial?"

"Mr. Carson, surely by now we know enough about shell shock to be more understanding." They had both been witnesses to it.

"Mr. Matthew didn't high tail and run. He stood by his post. Now, I don't mean to sound cruel. This other lad was probably troubled and off his head for all we know. I'm sorry for him. I'm sorry for his family. I'm sorry for Miss Patmore,"

"Well, then."

"But is it fair to the millions of men who stood by their posts, up to their waists in mud, terrified out of their wits, yet determined to do their duty for King and Country, as Mr. Matthew did." He reminded her again, "Is it fair to say to them, "Your sacrifice weighs just the same as the man who abandoned his duty and ran for it?"

"What Mr. Matthew will think of that would be quite the opposite of that."

"I'm leaving him out of this."

"Starting to have a soft spot for him now are you?"

"Just looking out for him for Lady Mary's sake. He doesn't need to be troubled with this. And I don't think it's right to make so little of the gist those young men gave us when they died and those who sacrificed part of themselves."

"I see." Miss Hughes promptly left. She was in the middle of telling Miss Patmore when they were interrupted by Carson.

"Oh, she's told you then. They'd never have allowed it. But I don't want you to think that I'm unsympathetic."

"Yes, well, sympathy butters no parsnips." Miss Patmore hurried out of the kitchen.

"What's the matter with her?" Daisy asked.

* * *

Rose hosts a tea for Russian refugees from York. Robert suggests they move into the next room to commune with the souvenirs the Dowager and the 6th Earl of Grantham brought back from the wedding of Grand Duchess Maria to Queen Victoria's son Prince Alfred.

As Violet lights up reminiscing about the long-ago party in the 'warm as the-tropics' Winter Palace, her blue velvet dress and her long lost fan, out from the shadows steps Prince Kuragin to remind her that it was he who had gifted her with the memento and she'd hid it in her handbag so her husband wouldn't see, the meaning of which goes sledding over Robert's head as Violet proudly introduces them.

"Granny has a past!" Mary said cheerful, beside Matthew. "Thank heavens Papa and Aunt Rosamund were already born."

"We could have spun all sorts of fairy tales." He mused. God knows, how much he and Mary deserved their own. They were lucky enough if it would stay that way for ever. But nothing ever truly lasts does it?


	21. August 1924-October 1924

_August 1924_

Matthew had finished gathering some things from the office. Even though he hadn't used the office for a few years now, he used it as storage. He had packed up the sensitive documents himself and put them into boxes. He had assistance loading them into the car of course. He couldn't carry them, having to use a stick, especially when having to step up or down, if there wasn't a railing. He loved this sort of freedom, though still limited. If he was out longer he'd have to use the wheelchair, he'd been neglecting using it as he thought that he didn't need it. He was just grabbing a few things.

He saw Tom down the street, near the school, his usual spot where he would wait for Miss Bunting. Seeing Matthew, he came over and helped the chauffeur load the few boxes into the boot.

"I haven't seen your friend Miss Bunting around, lately. Robert's outburst put her off, I take it?" He beamed at that pleasant thought. No. He shouldn't take pleasure in that. She was Tom's friend. It wouldn't be right. He should forgive her, even if she had meant to hurt him. It was called being a better person.

"She got a new teaching position. I just saw her off."

"I'm so sorry, Tom. You seemed to like her."

"It was for the best. She reminded me of who I used to be, full of anger and hatred. I couldn't go back to that. And she's not my friend. You are. You're my brother." He placed his hand briefly on his shoulder. "She said we let them change us."

"The 'We'll never let them change us, boys? Never!"

"Said that I was protecting a dying breed."

"Perhaps. That won't be for quite some time."

"Exactly what I told her. They'll be needing people like us." Tom's smile turned into a frown. "But things have changed."

"Oh. Have you decided then?"

"Not quite yet. Still need more time to think about it." He turned to Matthew thinking, just what was going on with him. "We've been spending more time together but we never really actually talk." When they did it was mostly business. "I'm not going to ask you to talk to me about it, if you don't want to. You were going through some things. You still are."

"Please don't make excuses for me, Tom. I've barely been a decent friend to you." He turned his attention to the people milling about, then back to Tom. "Do you know somewhere we can talk in private?"

They went to a little footbridge, overlooking a creek, back behind a vacant lot. This would be an ideal spot for a cottage or a house to be built. He could imagine a family living here, the children wading, and fishing in the water.

"I understand a bit what you're going through." He said to Tom. "feeling like you don't fit in. I feel like the worlds going on without me, even though I'm trying to change with it." The rip roaring twenties. It felt like they were going on without him, like he didn't belong, with all the advances and fashion, it was like some strange foreign world.

"I don't think I could ever go back to Manchester. It isn't my home anymore. I'm too different now, than the man I was."

"I know what you mean."

"Do you think you could ever go back?"

"To Ireland?" Tom was taken aback by such a question, not the question itself, but he hadn't really thought about it. He replied, in full honesty, "No. I don't feel like I'd belong there either."

Matthew nodded, it was good to know, that he wasn't the only one. "I feel like I'm not supposed to be here." Tom gave his friend a worried glance. Surely he wasn't thinking about...He shook his head, disguising it as an itch, scratching the back of his head. Matthew Crawley was too proud for that. And he had so much to live for now than he had before. "I faced death every day. Many times, I came close." There had been many chances, instances where he thought he might be killed.

"Does Mary know about any of this?"

He nods again. "I think she knows. Sometimes I don't have to say anything."

"It was like that with Sybil. Anywhere I go, and I feel her, I'll be home. That much I know." They took a moment of silence, remembering those they had lost. Tom inhaled and exhaled a breath of fresh air. "Right." He said, patting his friend on the back. "Let's get you home. I don't want you collapsing on me."

* * *

Miss Patmore had inherited money from an Aunt. She wanted Matthew's advice on what to do with it. She wanted Miss Hughes and Carson to hear her ideas too. "It's a few hundred quid, more than I ever saved. She was married to a barber and he did well but they had no children."

"How nice of her to choose you." Miss Hughes said.

"I think it's the memory of my dad more than anything."

Matthew nodded in understanding as he listened. People he had known in Manchester had thought of him fondly, only he had thought as such because of his father.

She was thinking that she could use the money to invest but didn't know in to what.

They were expanding on the village, building more farms and cottages. He suggested it to her. "They could bring in a lot of money over the next several years."

"I wanted to invest in one of the cottages as a bed and breakfast." Matthew raised an eyebrow. Had she already thought this out? Had she wanted to see him for some other reason? He dreaded what the real reason might actually be. Miss Patmore then turned to Carson and Miss Hughes, 'that's what I brought you in for. I might hand in my notice if it doesn't fall through."

"I really cannot say on the matter. But it is your money to do with what you please." Miss Hughes said. She would be sad to see her go and it showed in her voice.

"This next bit I was hoping to go over with Mr. Crawley. Alone."

Miss Hughes caught Carson's look of disapproval. She cut him off before he could say anything, telling them they ought to be getting back to work anyway. "Come along, now Mr. Carson. They have matters to discuss, which I'm sure will bore you. Mr. Crawley is a man of the new world. They're going to replace old goats like you"

Once they were left alone in Carson's office, Matthew asked, "What else could I do for you Miss Patmore?" as he sat down.

"There was something else I've wanted to speak to you about. You've heard about my nephew Archie."

He closed his eyes. So this was really the reason she wanted him down here, to try to convince the board to put her nephew on the memorial. He was hoping the subject wouldn't come up. He never had spoke to anyone about it other than Mary and Robert. He felt used, although he had already known she was going to ask sooner or later. Miss Patmore meant well. He would try his best to help her. If he was Archie, he'd want someone to stick up for him. But he wasn't like Archie. He hadn't run away and met his end by firing squad. God, how many times he had wanted to run away. His mind almost had.

It was the day that Levine had died. He stood frozen to the spot. He couldn't move. They literally had to drag him back to the trenches. He was feeling listless, like he weighed nothing as everything around him started to blur. The shouting and firing and explosions sounded muted, as if it was all coming out through a hollowed out tube.

_"What happened?"_

_"Levine was blown up right in front of him, that's what happened!" It sounded like Edwards, his Second Lieutenant. _Edwards who would be dead just within hours._ He was vaguely aware of the hands around him, guiding him, resting him up against the trench wall. There was someone calling out, pleading with God or cursing him._

Whoever they were, they were panicking, fearing they would be without a Captain.

_"He's gone." The same voice wails._

_Another voice but strong and steady, "I heard about this. It's the neurosis."_

_"No. He's just in shock. He'll come round." A hopeful but doubtful voice, that could have been Edwards._

_He couldn't recall much of what was happening or what was wrong with him._

He understood now of course, that his mind had been trying to run away. But he had had a duty, to his men. Their cries, their please for him to come back to them.

_"Crawley?" Someone gently put a hand to his face._

_"Patrick?"_

_"No. It's Edwards."_

_Patrick's dead. _He remembers thinking it. His mind had tried to pull away again. He had almost let it, had wanted it to. He had wanted to be anywhere but there, in that moment.

_He could hear their voices but not what was going on around him. Nor could he see. Nor did he care._

_"We should give 'im something to drink. Bourbon."_

_William._

_"No, he's going to need something stronger than that, kid. He might need more than that." He feels the gentle hand again, this time on his shoulder. "Come back to us, Captain. You need to give your orders. Your men need you." A canteen is pressed to his lips. "Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better."_

_He takes a drink of it, nearly choking on it._

_"Easy, now. That's it."_

_His mind feels like it's coming out of a fog. He sits up straight._

_"Are you with us?"_

_He was now. Gives a nod._

_"What are the orders, Captain..."_

_"I...I.. " For a second he didn't know, couldn't think, a painful dreadful second. He had to make a decision, and whatever decision that was, would seal the fate of his men. Without thinking about it, he says it out of instinct, "fall back. We need to fall back." It was hard to believe that it was his voice, filled with courage, something that he was far from feeling. He didn't know what he was feeling. All he knew was survival._

_"You heard him. Fall back! Fall back" His voice was almost drowned out, as a shell landed inside the trench, burying the two of them under rubble. _William and the others must have gotten clear enough, judging how William had found him and Edwards an hour later.

He rubs his eyes at the foggy memory. Though what had transpired next had been clear. At least from the point where William had found him, shifted the debris off him, then assisting Edwards, waiting with him to die, up until William jumped in front of him during the second blast, saving his life. He had to stop and think for a moment. Something wasn't right with that memory. He had thought that it had been a piece of Levine he had found in his shirt, after days he had been soaked in his blood, he had been finally able to shower and change at headquarters. That must have been someone else, then. Memory was a funny thing when it came to war, what the mind chooses to forget, choosing when and what to remember. He had nearly lost his mind, twice that day. He now believed that it started, this deep wound to his psyche, after he had killed that German boy, then the repeat of seeing another friend die in the exact same way had almost sent him over the edge. They had been able to call him back, the first time his mind had tried to run away. What had the second time? What had prevented it then, while he had been trapped under all that ruble? His will to live, for Mary, his duty? Why had Miss Patmore's nephew been able to psychically runway, when he couldn't? He quickly came up with an answer himself.

It was not the same for everyone, when it came to shell shock. It affected one's self differently. "It's like any other wound. But it's different for everyone."

"But you at least have known how he felt. What he was going through. What it felt like."

He nodded, sadly, covering his eyes, rubbing them again. "You could try writing to the war office."

"I wouldn't know how to write a letter like that."

"I could write it for you."

"What good would that do? Lord Grantham said there were rules in place."

"There are. I'll tell you what, I can tell you what to write. It needs a more feminine hand to be convincing and sympathetic. If you write to them, more and more families will, over the years. In time, we'll be understood. Things will change, Miss Patmore." _Maybe not in our lifetime._ "Sometimes you need to take the first step."

* * *

_September 1924_

Edith had received the most devastating news. Robert didn't know who else to talk to about this. When he opened the door to the library, he wasn't alone. Matthew had pulled his own resources, his old contacts, to help find Gregson, after he had disappeared a few years ago.

"Edith's received some terrible news." Robert announced as he entered. "Gregson's dead, I'm afraid."

"How terrible that is to hear. And was it this Herr Hitler?"

"Apparently, at least his gang of thugs. During the so called Bierkeller Putsch in Munich. It took days for the police to get the city back under control and by then any trace of Gregson was buried or what was left of him."

"It's horrible to think about."

"At least they locked Hitler up for five long years."

"He most likely won't serve five years or anything like it." Matthew stated. Of course he would know. He was the lawyer. This Hitler sounded like he could cause more trouble. It seemed futile to think of it now.

"There is another thing. Edith inherits Gregson's publishing company."

Matthew didn't attempt to hide his smile. At least something good would come out of this. A woman owning her own publishing company, good on Edith! "I at least expected that."

"I hope somehow it helps her get through this. It was very generous of him." He continued on when Matthew didn't reply. "I suppose they loved each other."

"How is Edith really taking it?"

"She's gone for a walk. She wanted to be on her own. It came to no surprise of course but there's always a shred of hope, isn't there?"

Over breakfast the next morning, Edith hadn't come down. "I don't know what she's so worked up about it. She hasn't laid eyes on him for almost two years." Mary said. "And they were broken up by then."

"She just got the news yesterday. For her it feels like it just happened." Matthew said. Years after the war, when he had learned that some of his comrades in arms had died, it had felt exactly like that. "She still loved him." He had loved Patrick, his friend. Not the same kind of love, but still. He had never properly grieved when he had received Patrick's letter (a letter from the grave.) that was to be delivered to him upon Patrick's death not until Mary had read it to him. It was as if he had just written it and had still been alive. He had written it in the hospital weeks before his death. Matthew had watched his write it. He offered to post it for him, but Patrick held it out of reach, to keep him from seeing what it said, and continued writing.

_'For my eyes only. I made preparations and am going to leave specific instructions. You won't get this until something were to happen to me. When you do, deliver it straight to Mary. There will be a letter for you as well..."_

_"Patrick..."_

_"Don't." His friend had squeezed his arm, his fingernails almost digging in, from fighting back the pain he was in._

_"That's not going to happen. I saved your life. You owe me." He was joking now._

_"No." He starts to cough. He manages to clear his throat. "I forgot to congratulate you on your engagement...I told you she deserved better than me. I hope you forgive me for taking advantage of you."_

_"Patrick not..." They couldn't do this here._

_"You see why I'm bad for her? Take care of her for me. I know you will. I knew you would love her."_

_"How could you possibly have known..." How could he have known, predicted that he would fall in love with a complete stranger as soon as the sight of her?_

_"I just did. You're my best friend. You know me better than anyone, and I know you." His grip eased. "If it weren't for you...you made it easier to survive...here." He was getting slower in his speaking. "You helped me make the best of it. Now enough of this sob fest. Get back to your duties, Captain. I need some rest." _His last words, his last spoken ones, he suddenly remembered after all these years.

Even though he had known it must be true, he still hadn't believe he was dead until they had buried his body. For Edith, there would never be that.

* * *

Francis Fitzalan-Howard, 2nd Baron, died on 22nd September 1924, his son was announced as Baron Howard of Glossop the next day. Matthew wondered if it would happen that fast for him, he'd come into the title. He knew he'd become Earl the moment Robert dies. He was referring to how ready he'd be, if he'd come into his own naturally. What kind of Earl would he be? How would he be received? He didn't voice his last two worries to Mary.

"You mustn't worry about it. Papa's got a lot of good amount of time left." She gave him a kiss.

"What was that for?" His eyes fluttered up to her, admiring her beauty.

In Mary Crawley fashion, she kept him guessing. He headed downstairs for lunch while Anna came in to dress her for the day. She had a letter for her. They got to talking about Gregson.

"I know it's terrible but what does she suppose he was doing? Living in a tree?"

"You mustn't make jokes, mi'lady."

"Only in here. I'll be as solemn as a church when I go down."

"He's been dead for a while now but it feels like it was yesterday to Lady Edith."

"That's what Mr. Matthew says. Sometimes it's scary and eerie the way you two think alike." Anna and Matthew were the same age. That could be it. Anna had come to work at Downton when she was sixteen, Mary had been ten. It just struck her that maybe the reason she was compatible and inseparable with Matthew was because of Anna. She and her husband were so alike. She had married her best friend. The male version of Anna. "I am sorry, truly. He was a nice man. Though what he saw in Edith..." She opened the folded piece of paper. "The York and Ainsty are holding a point-to-point at Canningford Grange on Saturday and a friend of Tony's persuaded him they should ride in it. I might join them!" It had been so long since she had been able to ride, since Katie's birth, eight months ago. And she had been too busy lately. She hoped she wasn't too out of practice.

"Are ladies allowed to race with the gentlemen?"

"They changed it just before the war. Papa thinks it's terribly fast."

Rose had gone to York earlier in the week to check up on her refugees she had been tutoring. It was sometimes tiring and sad when they talked of the old days in Russia before the war. The day matched the mood. It was pouring down rain, when she ran into him.

He was tall, with dark brown hair. She could smell his cologne. When she laid her eyes upon him, she couldn't help taking a second look.

_Our eyes locked across a crowded room and wham! It was as if the entire crowd vanished and it was just the two of us. We gravitated to each other and it felt like the heavens opened up and a chorus of angels sang._

His name was Atticus Aldridge.

Rose came up to Mary's room after Anna left. "How do you know when you're in love? It was love at first sight for you and Cousin Matthew?"

Mary had to pause for a second, wondering what possibly could have brought this on, before answering. "I wouldn't put it like that. You can feel a lot of things at first sight, and some of those things are incredibly intoxicating, overpowering. It takes compatibility to make a healthy relationship work. Love, by itself is not enough." She was saying all this of course as not to get her young cousin's hopes up. It wasn't that way for every one. "But you can not love someone you do not know. Not for who they really are." It was like she was just starting to get to know him. Lord knows she tried to get through his walls and barriers. He had told her as much as he could, about the war. There was still something unspoken. "I wanted very much to hate him, when he insulted our way of live, calling it ridiculous, but I couldn't. Before you marry, make sure there is no secrets between you."

Rose wasn't the only one to be struck by love. Lord Merton had proposed to Isobel but she said she would have to think about it. Life with Lord Merton, sounded like a new adventure, it might be the last one before the end. On the other hand, she felt that she had more in common with Richard.

Robert and Lady Sinderby had rekindled their relationship but they wanted it to remain secret. Over lunch he almost couldn't contain himself, hinting at it by announcing that he would have joyous news before too long.

"The drawings for the ideas on how to renovate the run down houses?" Matthew asked.

"Not quite but that is part of it."

"Why is there such a building spurt?" Rose wondered.

"Because the war showed how half the population was very badly housed." Mary said, her voice filled with slight annoyance. It was constantly having to refer to it when talking about change. A slip of habit. Perhaps to convince themselves that it had meant something. There had to be a reason for it. Change, was the best thing to come out of it she supposed. Though a few years ago, she hadn't thought that they would still be mentioning the war, even five years later. It never went away, would it in another five, ten? Maybe for those who were not in it.

"They were shocked by how unhealthy some of the new recruits were." Robert replied.

Mary watched as Matthew's eyes went down to his plate. It would never be over for him. He can't escape it, not even by it's mere mention. She knows he must be thinking about it. "I heard there's going to be a point-to-point at Cannigford on Saturday." She wanted to change to a more cheerful topic.

Rose lit up, showing interest. "Atticus was talking about that."

"Atticus? Atticus Aldridge?" Robert asked.

"Yes! How'd you know? Is he any relation to Lady Sinderby?" Recalling that her last name was also Aldridge.

"He's her son. It's a wonder why you haven't come across each other until now."

"Well, you and Lady Sinderby haven't been seeing much of each other lately." Mary reminded him. Which little did they know he had been seeing her again. "And she wasn't here when she brought her son to dinner."

"That's just the luck, isn't it? But I wouldn't have met him like I did if we had met earlier." _And wouldn't have fallen in love at first sight. _

"The Sinderby's bought Cannigford Grange before Lord Sinderby died." Robert said.

"Why don't we all go, make a day of it?" Rose asked, looking forward to it.

"Yes. We could ask Granny and Isobel and take the children." Mary thought it a marvelous idea as she said it, though she wasn't sure how it would go over with Matthew. And then there was going out in public, he was used to it by now, but he didn't like being stared at, at times. She would have to bring his lap rug, as his legs got cold easily and that would decrease the unwanted attention, and pack some toys for the children so they would stay out of trouble. The food would be provided. She was growing rather excited and looked forward to it. It would take his mind off things.

They discussed it later in the evening. As she had expected, he didn't agree.

He thought horses rather pointless, since the invention of cars and other means to get around and he didn't trust them. Mary disagreed, saying horses were more trustworthy than most people.

"You're most likely to die in a car crash or falling in the bath." His face was grim. "Not you per-say. It's less likely to fall off a horse."

It wasn't his dislike for horses. He couldn't quite look at one the same way again, after what they had to do to them, in the war, to survive. He feared if he got too close, they would stare right through him and know. Horses were the most perceptive creatures on the planet, besides mans best friend.

"Tom isn't going. Why aren't you dragging him to this?"

"Because Tom doesn't want to go, and he's not my husband. It'll be fun. The children will love seeing the horses."

"The children can't see the horses here?"

"It'll be nice to get out. Tony's going to be there. He'll be competing but afterwards I don't see why he wouldn't stick around to chat. I want you to try and get to know him. Tom might not be here much longer. It''ll be nice for you to have someone else to talk to." They had some things in common that she had been sure they would hit it off at the start but he hadn't been interested. Maybe this effort would work this time round. "You'll find out you'll have far enough in common than you think."

"I'm sure!" He smiled for her benefit.

"Good!" She smiled back, and didn't even notice.

He didn't want another friend.

* * *

"Come and look at these!" Later that afternoon, Robert had Mary, Matthew and Tom gathered in the library, even Lady Sinderby. She after all would soon be in charge of seeing over the estate as well, but they were not aware of that yet of course. They were curious as to why she was there. Robert told them convincingly that she knew a great deal in such matters. Mary just shrugged her shoulders at Matthew, signaling they should just go along with it.

"This is just the kind of work we're looking for, isn't it? Mary asked, as they gathered around the blueprints for the new buildings, laid out on the table.

"I knew you'd say that." Robert said.

"Why?"

"They'd cost the most."

"These would be a lot cheaper."

"But nastier."

"A lot of the renovated cottages will be occupied by lifetime tenants." Matthew stated. "We'd have no real income from them for twenty years." By which time he'd be dead, he bleakly thought. He would like to do more for Downton before then.

"So instead of Mr. Wavell's horrid houses, we'll make our own?"

"Matthew's just trying to protect the estate."

"What's the matter, darling?" Rachel was bent down next to Isis, having noticed that she didn't seem to be doing so well. "I wonder if she'd picked up a germ."

"Or she's probably eaten a dead squirrel." Mary suggested. "She's quite fat. She could be pregnant."

"I doubt that. She can't be." Robert replied.

"I suppose we should go for the cheaper option," Mary pointed at the drawing closest to her, in haste. "but it's a shame. Anyway I must fly. I've got an appointment in York in an hour."

"Where do you have to rush off to in a hurry?" Robert asked.

"Aunt Rosamund is taking me to a fashion show."

Matthew walked with her to the door. "Make sure to bring something back worthwhile, preferably something easy to take off?"

She smiled up at him lustfully, intending to fulfill that promise.

* * *

The day of the race, was clear and sunny. Robert was watching through his binoculars while the rest of the family was sitting underneath the tent in the shade. The children's nannies brought Sybie and George over to their grandfather for a closer look. Matthew was sitting in a chair next to Robert. George went over to sit on his lap. Sybie went over to her Grandfather.

"Can I have a look, Donk?" Sybie asked her grandfather, tugging on his coat.

Robert lifted her up and put the binoculars up to her face. "Can you see Aunt Mary?"

"Yes."

Matthew asked if he could hand them over once he was done. George would make a fuss if he didn't get a turn.

"I think she's splendid." Isobel said with approval. Her son definitely deserved a woman like her.

"I think she's cracked." Chirped Violet.

"It's good to do some crazy things when you're young." Isobel had been rebellious in her youth before she had met Reggie. He had come into her life and wouldn't leave. A few years of dating, they were out at dinner with some medical student friends of his. One of the men commented that he was a lucky man. She didn't understand. His friend had a more attractive woman. Why was he lucky? Well it turns out that his hot young thing had seemed like a dream come true at the beginning, she seemed to adore his kids, was eager to please and could talk for hours. Fast forward and she drove their kids away, pushed him to the brink of financial ruin, was sloppy and lazy and he began to notice that she only talked about herself. He jokingly said to watch out cause my woman was worth stealing. She looked around at their friends and noticed how people gravitated towards him, how he was always helping and seemed so warm and genuine with everyone, she had wanted to settle down. Matthew's rebellious nature growing up had been due to them pushing him toward something he didn't want.

"As long as you survive them." Lady Sinderby sounded a bit nervous. She felt a little intimidated in Violet's presents., hoping that she wouldn't sense that Robert and her were back together, least of all, engaged.

"Some people do crazy things all their lives." Violet remarked.

Rather than reply to her future mother in-law, she went to go find a seat.

It felt so thrilling, so freeing, to be up on her horse again, watching everything speed by. As the horse approached the obstacle, preparing to jump, she got this euphoric feeling. It began to dwindle down as the race ended, with her finishing in fifth place.

"You're not in the least disappointed that you're not the first woman to win?" Matthew asked her gleefully.

"No. I enjoyed it at much as I do the hunt."

Robert came round from the corner of the tent, he was still holding Sybie. George was with the nanny. "Well done. Thank God, you're all back in one piece."

"If I hadn't know any better I'd think she allowed them to win." Tony said. He'd been walking beside Mary.

"The world's not strong enough for our Lady Mary." Matthew replied.

"They wish. I don't believe in letting people win." Replied Mary.

Tony asked Matthew if he would mind if they got away from the sweltering heat. He had some ideas on some of his investments that might interest him. Mary smiled watching them sit and talk. Well, she failed the race, at least she didn't on this. And she didn't even have to ask. It didn't seem to last very long though, as Tony rejoined them.

Lady Sinderby made her way over to the small group of people gathered. Atticus introduced her to Tony and Mr. Blake. "The rest of the family you know and of course Lady Rose."

"Lady Rose, so lovely to see you!" Rachel said, affectionately. "Why don't you all come back to the house to bathe and change?"

"I'm going to leave in till we get back to Downton, thank you." Mary said. She knew this would be slightly awkward for her father.

"I can't tempt you to stay for dinner?"

"Not today when we're covered in dust." Robert said. "Why don't you and Atticus come to Downton tomorrow for dinner?"

Mary, who was sipping a glass of lemonade, gave him a glance, that said, your funeral. Robert caught her expression as she walked past. But he could relax, she hadn't caught on. They all thought that things were awkward between them because of their breakup, not that because they were desperately hiding something.

"We'd be delighted." Rachel clasped her hands together.

"If she's coming to dinner because of Rose's young man, things must be far more advanced than I realised, and not to mention awkward." Violet said to Isobel, having overheard. It was rather hard not to.

"Oh, I don't quite think so." Violet gave her a look that said, do you know something that I don't?

* * *

Rose's father came to stay at Downton after separating from his wife, Susan. He was helping Violet search for Prince Kuragin's wife. Kuragin and the Princess had been separated, not by will, while they had been escaping Russia as refugees. Shrimpie put his investigation skills to use that he had learned from his Pinkerton cousins from America. He tracked her down, her last known whereabouts to just outside of Hong Kong. If she wasn't to be found, or didn't want to, Kuragin asked Violet to run away with him. But of course she couldn't. It wasn't just her reputation to uphold, they were no spring chickens anymore and not foolish young people in love.

Susan had tracked down her husband. It wasn't hard. He didn't have many places to go. She demanded he stop his nonsense and come home when she heard about Atticus and Rose's relationship, commenting about her daughter's behavior, that she got from him, certainly not from her. "You are a fool to indulged her. Have you ever stopped...?"

Shrimpie came to Rose's defense. "Have you ever stopped? Stop making everyone so bloody unhappy all the time!"

She wanted Rose to come back with her, that it wasn't to late to save her reputation. "He can't marry her."

"Who said anything about marriage? Atticus and I are just seeing each other."

"And that is just enough. But I know of someone, who would be willing to, after all this." Susan addressed to her husband that she wanted to talk to her daughter alone. He gave a hmph and departed. Rose gave him a desperate look that said, don't leave me alone with her, but he already rounded the corner.

"Come, sit with me darling." Rose had no option but to obey. "You remember Phillip Dawson, that works at the bank? He's a reasonable and intelligent man. We've spoken at length about it, and he's willing to marry you. He's a widower who loved his wife deeply. He's not looking to replace her but needs a mother for his son."

Rose shot right up, "Is that what I'm only to be good for? A mother to his son, just a job to fill? I'm to be handed off, to a man I don't even know."

"He's worked for us for years."

"But to spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage, like you and father? Mother, how could you?"

"How could I? How could I? How dare you ask me that question, after disgracing us by going off with married men and those who are beneath you, in front of all of London. How dare you! You will do exactly as I say now without hesitation, or I'll lock you up in a nunnery somewhere or cut you off."

"You're just a sad dried up old cow, who will get nothing once he divorces you. I know he wouldn't want that for me. I will not be forced to marry a man that I don't love and who doesn't love me, sold into slavery or like a piece of furniture. It's 1924, not the 1800's. Women are becoming liberated now. And it's not up to you. You have no say in what I do or who I marry. It's up to Papa."

Rose found herself an hour later, sitting next to her father on the sofa in the library. "You wouldn't force me to marry a man that I didn't love. Would you, Papa?"

"I do not want the same path your mother and I had chosen for us." She also finds herself resting her head against his shoulder as she had when she was a little girl. Sometimes she still longed for those days, but without her mother of course.

* * *

Robert announced his engagement to Lady Sinderby that night at dinner. "I have a little announcement to make. You might like to know that Lady Sinderby and I decided that we should get married. Naturally I thought it would be the last thing to ever happen."

"I forced him into it."

"She wooed me into it."

Mary swallowed, nearly choking on her food. She never imagined him saying words like that, though she had noticed the way they had looked at each other, how her father straightened his posture and looked at her whenever she spoke.

"And I'm terribly pleased she did!"

They toasted and cheered for the newly engaged couple. Rose and Atticus were talking excitedly to each other. It was evident there was a spark between them.

"Atticus seems quite taken with your niece." She said to Robert. He didn't correct her that she was his cousin. "I would be delighted if something were to come of it."

"Have you decided at last if you were leaving?" Matthew was asking Tom.

"At last is the right phrase but I want to make sure I do the right thing. I don't want to disrupt Sybie's life then regret it."

"You know we all want you to stay."

"That's what makes it more difficult."

* * *

The dinner party made it's way to the drawing room afterwards as usual. Isobel was having a conversation with Robert and Lady Sinderby, congratulation them. "I'm so glad that the two of you found each other again."

"Speaking of which, do you have an answer to Lord Merton's question?" Violet butted in.

"What question is this?" Robert asked, interested.

"I had to turn him down."

"Really?" The Dowager Countess was surprised. "I wouldn't imagine you letting that slip from your fingers, settling for a country doctor."

"We haven't decided on anything. We're just friends at the moment."

"I'd like to see how long that lasts, as he's been constantly pining for your affection since the day you arrived here." Violet went on her way.

"I hope she didn't sway you towards anything." Robert nodded toward the direction of his mother as she retreated.

"Cousin Violet does mean well. But no. I came to my own decision. Richard and I have more in common. Like we decided to remain friends as well. And he helped Matthew a great deal."

"I heard somewhat about that." Rachel hadn't known how she should talk to him when he was in the wheelchair. Should she bend down? She had asked before she was to formally meet him for the first time. Atticus had told her to just stand up straight. He worked with some older men that had been wounded in the war, and had to use wheelchairs, they hated that. And she had heard from Robert that he had suffered from nightmares. "He seems to be getting along rather well now." She looked over at him, chatting happily with Mary and Tom. Both fine young people as well. She would be gaining Mary and Edith as stepdaughters. How Robert talked about Sybil, she wished she could have gotten to know her. Their meeting was very brief at New Years Eve of 1919. She would also be gaining another son, in Matthew, in a way.

"Oh, yes, he's come a long way! There's still a stigma around mental illness, I suppose there always will be, but there's been progression in numerous fields, and a more understanding of shell shock since the war, in the last recent years."

"I would like to meet this doctor Clarkson you speak so well of."

After the guests had gone home, Robert joined Mary and Tom in the library. He was talking about how he never thought he find someone again, even though he knew it had to happen eventually. It was demanded of his image. Mary said she couldn't possibly think of loving someone else if anything happened to Matthew. He had gone up to be after everyone had departed.

"That's because it hasn't happened to you yet." Tom said. Mary knotted her eyebrows together at him. "And hopefully never will, not for a long time. No one should have their loved ones' life cut short."

Mary left the room, to check on Matthew, and the other children.

"What about you? " Robert sat down on the chase lounge next to Isis. "We don't want you to be alone for ever, you know."

"Just as I find someone that shares your family values."

Robert laughed. "Someone who feels friendly towards us, is not the same thing."

"No."

Isis gave a small whine. Robert was getting worried about her. She hardly moved from her spot in the last few days. He bent over to give her a pat. She didn't even seem to have the energy to lick his hand. "You're really not yourself, are you, old girl?"

"I've written a letter to my cousin in Boston. His family is doing very well there."

"I see. There's no use for a last attempt to change your mind?"

"I do love all of you, you know. It'll be hard to go."

"On both sides."

"I won't be telling the others, till after the wedding."

"That might be a good idea." That would spare some of Mary's resentment to use as ammunition.

* * *

Mary went up to the nursery, where she found Matthew. He was going over to each cot, touching the children's hair gently.

"I think probably the best moments are when they are all ready for bed in their pajamas, with a glass of milk." He said. "I feel guilty about leaving them." They wouldn't be taking them with to London for Robert and Rachel's wedding in a few days. The date had been set for the third week of October. "I'm not used to leaving them for so long, even though I've grown used to the customs of this place."

"We'll make up the time with them when we get back." She went up behind him and put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder, looking at George and Josephine then over to the nearest cot where Katie slept. She lifted her head and began to lift his head toward her. She lifted her head and began to lift his head toward her. "For now, more time for us." As she said them, about to kiss him, they were interrupted by a ruffling sound in Katie's cot.

"Just seven months ago she was so tiny and wasn't able to keep her eyes open it seems, spending most of her time sleeping just as it was for the others when they were small."

"Those were the days." Mary yawned. "I still owe you." She went over to tend to her daughter before she could wake up her siblings and her cousin. Then she would tend to Mr. Crawley.

At the same time, Atticus was proposing to Rose. They rushed out into the corridor, giggling. When he caught his breath, that's when he asked her.

"Atticus, it's so soon! How can we know if we're sure? If we're right for each other?"

"When you defended me in front of those refugees. Isn't that practice enough, that we can face what ever comes our way? If Lord Grantham and my mother can do it, so can we."

"Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. But first we'll need to divulge all our secrets to each other."

"Our secrets?"

"Everyone has them. It's what my cousin Mary said. That there should be no secrets between a marriage. By revealing them, and the person still stays by your side, you know you can trust them. That they're it for you."

"I want to be it for you."

"Just so you know, I am an advocate for woman's rights and I'm not going to stop going to meetings. If that embarrasses you..."

"Not at all, I think it's very interesting. I see no reason to disrupt your political views, our religions aren't even the same so it would make sense. You're entitled to your own opinions. As long as you don't get yourself arrested." They both smiled and laughed. She then stopped to think, what if this is too good to be true?

"I don't know why you're doing this." She said.

"Because I love you." In that moment she knew they were right for each other.

* * *

Robert, Edith and Matthew were the only ones down for breakfast. Robert was surprised to see him, as he normally took breakfast up in his and Mary's room. He just assumed that it took an effort for him to get ready, for it was the wife that usually took breakfast in bed, not the husband. He wished there was a way he could make things easier on his son in-law but he would refuse the help. He was stubborn in his found independence, and the consequences that accompanied his injury, was simply never discussed. His requirements were confidential except to Mary, and his mother, who had been a nurse. Rachel had once suggested that they could hire one for him, not a live-in one but one who could come a few days out of the week. It would open up some free time, Mary could get out of the house. Both Matthew and Mary objectified. As long as they were living here, they didn't really have the need for one, and Mary took care of what he couldn't, which was very little.

"How is your column coming along?" Matthew asked Edith. "Do you have many more ideas for the company yet?"

"Matter of fact..."

"You're still not going on about that are you?" It was all they ever talked about. "I wish you didn't encourage her." They didn't reply, their eyes simply lifted toward him. He gave a sigh. "As long as it's nothing that'll embarrass me."

As the day wore on Robert was growing increasingly worried about Isis. He had Carson try to get a hold of the family vet a few hours. He was in the front room, pacing. When finally the butler walked in. "Carson have you been able to reach Mr. Stapley?"

"He's away till Friday, My Lord. Would you like me to find you someone else?"

"No. No. I'll take her down myself Friday afternoon."

Rose came through the front door, looking chipper than ever, since Atticus had proposal last night. She didn't want to tell anybody just yet and steal Cousin Robert's and her future mother-in law's thunder.

"Has the gong rang yet?" She rushed to catch up with Robert on the stairs.

"No. Why have you bothered to change? It'll just be you, me, and Mary and Tom."

"Is Cousin Matthew not joining us?"

"I'm afraid he's feeling a bit under the weather. Nothing serious."

"I hope so." She gave a sigh of relief. It was frightening to think that if he simply got sick he could die. She wondered how Mary could do it. She supposed if you loved someone you can do anything, take on anything. How terribly sad it would be, for the children especially. _Enough of that._

"They were up all night with the children. It no doubt tired him out."

Rose tried not to blush. They were probably doing more than that. She couldn't wait for her wedding night. "And Edith?"

"She's still upset about Gregson. She has a lot on her mind with the publishing company." Edith had sought Matthew out on advice, about what topics she should write about in the columns, as they both shared an interest when it came to controversial topics that made the headlines. As much as it displeased Robert, it seemed to be helping with her grief.

"It's a good distraction as any at the moment." He said to Rose. "Where have you been?"

"It might have something to do with Atticus. We met halfway in Ripon."

"It is getting serious then?"

They stopped on the landing. "Fingers crossed."

"I still think you should write to your parents."

"Oh, daddy won't try to stop me."

"No. I don't believe he will." He turned to his cousin, that he thought of as a daughter, just as he had thought Matthew and Tom as sons. "Even so, it won't be as easy for you than it will be for me. Don't pretend that it'll be plain sailing." He continued up the stairs.

Rose put a hand to her chest, inhaling a deep breath, letting it out, hoping she was doing the right thing.

Of course the right thing wasn't always the easiest, as facing the path not taken in the past, and discovering if it were right to go down it now. As the Dowager Countess would know. Violet found herself faced with a difficult decision. Kuragin wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. His wife, unable to be found, meant that she might not want to be found.

"The last few years had been ugly. I don't want what remains to be ugly. I know my own feelings. You do too."

"I can't make a decision now." Violet almost spluttered. It felt like she was making excuses.

"I won't change." Neither of them could deny the connection they had when they first met but they had been married to other people.

"Don't proclaim your intransigence as if it were a virtue." She was more concerned with how things would drastically change. She had grown fond, and dare she say, dependent on Isobel and her friendship. She had two eligible bachelors, Violet only had one, there most likely won't be another. Not to mention her son was getting married and it was obvious that it wouldn't be far too soon enough before Rose was next. She scolded herself that it wasn't a competition. But it was in the Smith blood on her father's side. They had always been competitive. And sometimes too much for their own good.

* * *

In the afternoon Robert had a meeting scheduled with Jarvis and Murray. Matthew had always been as strong headed as Robert and that's what made them clash, when it came to the ideas for securing and running Downton. With Jarvis, it had been more so a feeling of being threatened, by the younger generation and their new and progressive ideas, how quickly they were making partner, when it had taken years, decades, to get were they were. In short, Matthew's type of lawyer was driving lawyer's like Jarvis and Murray extinct, which was part of then tension. And Jarvis had clearly been uncomfortable with Matthew's condition, at one point saying that he looked tired. But Matthew had not backed down, solidified in his ideas that could secure Downton's future.

Jarvis had decided to quit, obviously humiliated that he had been 'bested by a cripple' as if he could not have a mind of his own.

"I don't need to be treated delicately." Matthew had shot back. Robert had heard their voices as he approached the library but did not enter it's doors. "I don't need pity. I am not living a life of suffering here, nor am I 'tired' as you put it. If you really think you must make an issue of my disability, then make it yours, not mine. Because I'm fine with my issues and I should be treated professionally, as any able-bodied person. So if you really think it needs to be an issue, then you can educate yourself. If you have a problem with it, that's your problem, not mine!

Robert, though they had their differences, was secretly proud of him for telling off Jarvis, holding his own. It was as if he was his old self again.

Matthew wanted to spend time with his children before they left for London. It would only be for a few days. Still, he hated to part from them. It was as if they were extra limbs. It was hard to imagine now, his life without them. He had grown up as an only child. He had had siblings but they had died before he was born. And his children would know at least three of their grandparents. He already thought of Lady Sinderby as a grandmotherly figure to them. He wished that his father had been able to meet them, and Cora, though they hadn't always gotten on. _They should be here._

He had grown up knowing only one grandparent, who hadn't been particularly friendly, as Eleanor had thought his mother not good enough for his father and by extension him_. _He had long ago forgiven her. That's what his father would have wanted, had believed.

He began to wonder what it would be like if they had another child. Maybe in a year or so, they'd have another, a little brother for George. He would be content with a girl too. That would mean being outnumbered by girls. They already were. He and George had bonded over that.

He had so many hopes and dreams for them. He wanted his children to be kind and forgiving and knowledgeable of the world. They were already emphatic, loving and caring. He wondered if it was because they were intuitive to his condition, that they somehow knew. One thing he learned quickly about being a parent was that children were smarter than they would have you believe.

Katie would get the other children to bring her books. She could not talk yet and she was managing to get them to bring books to her. She would be a reader like him.

One day, they couldn't find Josephine after she had wandered off from nanny, thank goodness it had been inside the house, but it was a maze, searching for her would be like looking for a needle in a hay stack. But Mary instantly thought to check the kitchen. When she had been down in the kitchen earlier in the week, with Josephine, she had taken an interest in the pots and pans. Miss Patmore gave her a wooden spoon to bang on them, happily on the floor. Sure enough, the less than two year old had moved a chair over to the stove climbed on top of the stove and had arranged two pots, one on top of the other. Though however cute it was, she was given a talking to by her Papa, as he was the only one she appeared to listen to. She would be two years old soon. A daddy's girl. Katie was too and Josephine sometimes got jealous and would storm away.

"At least she doesn't lash out, like I did with Edith." Mary once stated.

"Katie's too small to do things by herself right now." He had explained to Josephine. She simply said, ok. And was nicer, helping with her baby sister. His two little princesses. And then of course, his little prince. He would always pick up his toys to make sure they were out of the way. He had been shy to come over to him when he was sitting in wheelchair, at first, at a year and a half. When George had gotten used to it, he would curl up and chat away and sometimes fall asleep. Matthew would have to ring the bell or go find someone to take him from his lap. Now at three, he rarely wanted to sit on his lap anymore as he was getting bigger. When he wasn't occupying his chair, George would wheel it round in it or push it round, pretending it was a race car. Mary scolded him, telling him it wasn't a toy. But Matthew didn't mind, as long as he wasn't too rough with it.

George was the only one to wake when he entered the nursery. It would be father and son time today. They would go down to the library and play. He didn't need to tell him to only grab one toy. He grabbed his green truck, walking alongside his father, at his pace, his little fingers curled around his.

Matthew got himself situated on the couch as George played with his truck, using the furniture as if they were roads. He even used his legs. "Can you feel this?" He asked with curiosity. Matthew shook his head. Before he could answer his son, the curiosity was gone. George turned his attention toward his wheelchair.

"Can I play race car?"

"Go ahead."

"I won't go too fast." He only got a few feet when the wheels caught on the rug, where it was sticking up in the middle. It made him drop his truck, causing it to roll under the settee. "Uh oh. Daddy, can you help get my truck?"

"If you want help, you'll have to bring over my chair. I'll use my stick to get it."

"Daddy, just walk," he replied.

"I can't."

He encouragingly replied, "Try harder!"

Matthew chuckled and explained that he already tried hard. "My legs are tired."

"How can your legs be tired?"

He had sacrificed most of his energy walking down all those stairs, all the way from the nursery to the library, to be able to walk with his son. He had to find an easier way to explain it. "When you walk for a long time, your legs can get really tired."

He frowned. "Mine are not tired."

"I'm older. Come, " He motioned with a wave, "bring the chair over. It's harder to bend down when I'm standing."

He got quiet, wheeled toward him, and asked, "Why?"

Matthew hesitated.

Even though he had answered this question a hundred times to strangers explaining to his child felt different. Instinct told him to be straightforward as he could, so he told him that he had been in an accident and hurt his back. "Because my legs don't work like they should all the time, I use a wheelchair."

George had a lot of follow-up questions, so Matthew threw in some details, he had been taken to hospital in a special military ambulance, which George thought was cool. He couldn't explain to him yet that he had been in a war. He was still far too young. Content with that, the three year old climbed down from the chair and pushed it over to him. As Matthew got into it, George watched with amazement,

"Wow, your arms are very strong."

Matthew smiled as this interaction warmed his heart, "I have to use them more than my legs." He grabbed his stick that was resting against the sofa, lied it across his lap and wheeled over to the settee. He slid the stick under it, sweeping back and forth but it was too short to reach. George's arms were too short too when he tried, and it was too low for him to crawl under.

He surprised his father yet again with his empathetic nature, came over to sit on his lap. "That's alright, daddy. Let's play blocks. We can sit at the table and stack them."

Just then the doors opened and Robert and Mary, followed by Tom entered. They were talking about the estate. "Ah, Matthew. There you are. We've been trying to find you." Robert said.

"I told you he would be in here." Mary reminded him.

Ignoring his daughter's quip he went over to his grandson, greeting him, "Georgie."

"Hello, Donk."

"I think it's time to go back up stairs with nanny, Georgie." While he was explaining to his son, Nanny West entered. "The adults have business to discuss."

"Ah, I wanted to play blocks. Later?"

"Yes."

He put him down from his lap as Nanny West picked him up to carry him back to the nursery. Something he couldn't do. She was doing it intentionally. _"I can't quite shake the feeling,_ _the things she does are on purpose."_ He had told Mary. Mary thought he was being paranoid, that it was natural for a parent to want to protect their children. He just wasn't used to having nannies around because he never had them. He had let it slide that time.

"There you are Master George! What did I say about wandering off?"

"It's actually my fault. I demanded some father and son time, since we'll be away for a few days. The girls were asleep. Hopefully I'll get to spend time with them before then." West gave him a disapproving look. As soon as they came back he would fire her. He now knew what her intentions were. She was trying to make it clear that the children shouldn't be associating with people like him, even if he was their own father.

"Come along now."

George demanded to be put down, and West had no other option than to obey. He hurriedly tried to keep up as she hurried him along.

"Tell Carson to fix the rug." He called back over his shoulder. This prompted laughter from the adults, including Matthew.

"What's wrong with the rug?" Mary asked. "I understand that it's hideous. I've been staring at it for a better part of a quarter century."

"You're great-great grandfather picked out this rug." Robert didn't see anything wrong with it. It wasn't tattered or frayed or anything.

"Exactly my point."

"It's uneven." Matthew explained.

"That could be a hazard." Robert said, his eyes scanning the rug for the flaw.

"No need to worry about it for now." He assured his father in law.

"George ware you out?" Mary asked. She didn't have to. She knew he wasn't able to move from his spot for the moment, hence he didn't need his chair, and he wouldn't trip over it because he'd be sitting for a while.

"Yes."

"I hope you're not too worn out." Robert was a bit worried about his son-in law but he was also anxious about the upcoming events, caught up in them to worry too much. Matthew was fine. "There are a lot of things I would like to over see before we leave for London. The preparations are already made for the wedding, so we don't have to worry about that."

Matthew wanted to go over the work on the cottages while they were in London.

"If we're to renovate them then we ought to start on them, as soon we get back." Robert agreed. "What I don't know is how we'll find the money."

"We'll think about it while we're in London." Matthew said.

Mary protested, "Nonsense, he shouldn't be worried about all that before his wedding. He means us." She directed to her father, warning him not to get any ideas. "Him and Tom, and I." He should be focused on his upcoming nuptials.

Robert nodded. That was one less thing off his mind. Rachel's father was still alive. He was in his nineties. He had to make a good impression. _Golly. _It made him sound like he was a young man, foolishly trying to win her father's approval. But Rachel would be worth it. He was ready to feel to what he had with Cora again, when the girl's were growing up. He would be gaining another son.

She looked over at Isis over on the floor. It seemed she had hardly ever moved from her favourite place the last time she had seen her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught something, green, under the settee. She went over to it. Bending down, she reached underneath and pulled it out. "What's George's truck doing under the settee?"

"He'll be so happy you found it, dear."

He took the truck up to George. They were playing blocks. They had been scattered all over the floor. When George saw him, his eyes immediately lit up and he knocked the stacks down, clearing the mess away with one swift motion, tossing the stray blocks way across the room. Shouting while doing so, "Grr, I'm a Hurricane"

"Hey! Hurricane's don't make noise!" Josephine said. One stray block hit her in the arm, the pointed edge coming into contact with her funny bone. She began to cry, where she sat on the floor. He wanted so badly to pick her up. He wheeled over to her. With all his strength, that he had recovered and his will power, he reached down as far as his arms could reach. Successfully, he picked her up, scooping her into his lap. As she grew bigger he wouldn't be able to do this.

"Yay! Daddy did it."

"Did what?" Mary was standing in the doorway. She made her way into the room.

"He picked up Jophie." He couldn't say Josephine.

"Jo." Josephine corrected him. She paused between a sniffle. She was going to be the one who thinks she's in charge of everything one day. Lord over all her siblings. She was exactly like Mary.

"What happened?" As she looked at Josephine, Josephine quickly hid her face.

"A block hit her when George was clearing the floor."

"You can't just throw blocks about George. Someone could get hurt! You're lucky you didn't hit, Katie!" Katie, just nine months old, was sitting up, silently in her cot, surround by her books.

She checks her oldest daughter over. "She isn't hurt. "

"I could've told you that." Matthew said. He had already checked. Sybie, who had been silent during the whole debacle, and fortunate not to have gotten hit in the crossfire, had come over and asked if she was alright.

"It was a accident." George apologised. "I'm sorry."

"I know but you need to be more careful." He spoke to his son, gently.

"Not hurt!" Jo put her arms around his neck. She was smiling now. "Papa hold me!"

"Oh, so that's what she wanted. You're as tough as nails little one." Mary said, affectionately. "You're going to need it."

"Well, we didn't fail thus far."

While the older children went to bed, he stayed up with Katie, holding her till she fell asleep. Just in four short months, he wouldn't be able to hold her like this. He wanted to make the best of it. He might never get to again if they didn't have another child. He wasn't quite ready to let that feeling go yet.

* * *

After the honeymoon, Lady Sinderby, now Grantham, (they all had to get used to that but she insisted on being called Rachel by the family) invited the Crawley's to Brancaster Castle in Northumberland, which she had rented, to attend grouse-shooting party. However, the butler Stowell has an axe to grind and a scandalous secret threatens to derail the holiday as well as the disapproval from Rose's mother.

"Do you have any English blood?" Susan asked.

Robert stiffened but kept his cool. Must he always be doomed with the presence of bad company at dinner?

"It is true that the parents of Rachel's husband and our family arrived in the 1880's." Rachel's father stated. His statement showed general dislike for her first husband.

_Some competition. _Robert thought.

"My mother was German, though she spend most of her childhood in St. Petersburg." Rachel said.

"I always thought of you as nomads, drifting around the world." Susan said.

"Talking about drifting around the world, is it true that you're starting your honeymoon at the Melfords in Coningsby?" Violet asked Atticus and Rose. It would be a good diversion to shut Susan's trap. Once it was open, it was hard to keep closed. Susan was the type to make everyone miserable when she was. A trait Mary had, but was able to hold back. She had matured since the war, having to take care of Matthew.

"Oh, yes." Atticus said, happily. "Lady Melford is Mother's cousin."

"Really?" Susan said as if she didn't believe it. "I never knew that."

"I know you wanted the synagogue blessing." Rachel's father turned to Rose.

"I'd like to respect both sides."

"Well, you don't understand our customs. Then again why should you? He should have told you that." He nodded at his grandson.

"I thought we could have a dinner on Wednesday night, for all of you." Rachel said to break the ice. "So you could meet some of the relations."

"And show them how lucky they are." Mary said. They all laughed at the comment.

"Since our own honeymoon was rushed." Her stepmother continued.

"Have you got many of them staying?" Violet asked.

"We're crammed to the gunwales. Atticus has to stay at the Halnaby Hotel."

"I love the Halnaby." Mary leaned over to Matthew, hinting. They could stay there as well, be out of other people's way and they would have time to do other things without being disturbed.

"I want you all to know that you'll always be welcome at Canningford, as long as it remains Atticus' home." It would be his once he and Rose were married.

"How kind." Susan sounded almost exasperated as if she was tired of all the kindness and chivalry**. **"Do you find it difficult to find staff these days? Since the way the economy has been since the war?"

"Not very. But then we're Jewish, so we always have money and we pay well."

Violet was really starting to like her. At least she'll know who will be the Queen of rhetorical and sly remarks when she's gone. After dinner Isobel helped Violet up the stairs.

"You know if...I don't get an early night...," Violet said, almost out of breath as she climbed them, I'd never make it through the week. Is Doctor Clarkson coming to the wedding?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"You've changed your tune?" Isobel was caught a little off guard. Violet sounded genuine.

"Well, one is not given many chances in life, and if you miss them, they may not necessarily be repeated." As she made her way to her room, Isobel watched after her, sensing she wasn't talking about her anymore, rather than herself.

* * *

They went out hunting for the grouse season the next morning. As usual Matthew stayed behind, not fearing that it would cause an episode but because he didn't care for it anymore. Mary couldn't fault him.

Rachel had invited a few guests for their hunting season. One of which was Bertie Pelham. Edith stood by him while he was shooting.

He remarks he has very few ambitions in life, for he is very content where he is.

"I grew up in Brancaster as a child. When my father died, I had to leave the army. Took up most of my time shooting, before I was made agent of Brancaster Castle."

Edith was intrigued.

"Sorry to lay it all out on you like that. What do you do?"

"I own a newspaper."

Bertie was equally intrigued.

Mary was introduced to one of the occasional acquaintance of the Aldridge's. She didn't catch his name. "My husband used to be a good shot, almost up until the end of the war, considering."

"Ah, a young war widow. The war has left us far too many."

Mary blinked. "He isn't dead." Put off and becoming disinterested with the hunting, she headed back to the house, taking the car.

Robert apologised to his wife for his cousin, "She says things before she thinks them. She's just like Mary sometimes in that way."

"I disagree. She shows much more restraint. Which makes her far better and a kind person."

Robert chuckled. He used to think that he'd never hear kind and Mary in the same sentence. " We have Matthew to thank for that."

The next evening, the butler Stowell treats Tom with rudeness and disrespect. He refuses to serve him, walking away when Tom asks for sugar and going right past him when serving bread and wine at the table. As Rose explains to Mary, Stowell is "punishing" Tom because of his background, because he is Irish and a former chauffeur. And does not approve of Tom's "bettering himself" Stowell divulges the secret of Lord Sinderby's love child with a woman named Diana Clark and threatens to tell Robert. Before it can be known Rose, Mary, and Tom, work to put a stop to it.

"We better act fast before everything hits the rocks." Tom said.

"Everything seems to be hitting the rocks." Mary tried to say it a bit harsh but it came out a bit hurt. And Tom knew it.

"That's a bit sad." He said.

"I mean it. Sybil was my only ally and she's gone. And Rose." Now that she was going to be married soon, and would be starting a family of her own. "And you're about to take Sybie with you." The only part of her sister. Even though she was trying to guilt trip him, she knew it wouldn't work.

"You still have an ally. Your strongest one." He gazed proudly in Matthew's direction as he made his way over to them, putting his hands on Mary's shoulders, given them a good squeeze. "You won't be alone."

"What's this about being alone?" Matthew asked.

"Tom is settled on leaving us."

"Mary, he must live his life." Her husband chided in a cheerful manner.

"There's no changing my mind, I'm afraid." It sounded like Tom was backing Matthew up, if she hadn't known any better.

"Thanks to you." She said to Matthew. "When you're busy I'll have to spend my reading time with Edith. If you read in the paper that I'm on trial for murder, it'll be your fault too." She turns to Tom.

"Which Matthew would have the skill to bail you out."

"Even I don't think he's that skilled."

"He got Anna out on bail."

'As I said, even I don't think he's that skilled. And Anna was innocent. I wouldn't be.""

"Have ye little faith in me?" Matthew asked.

"I always have faith in you." As she said it, Matthew wasn't paying attention. He was off somewhere else, daydreaming, (he hadn't meant to blame him about convincing Tom to leave. Tom's mind had already been set. _And friends sometimes went their separate ways._ It had still been long and coming. There had been some distance between him and Tom for quite some time but were still close enough to have each others backs. She knew that this would be hard for Matthew, that it would be like losing a friend all over again because she felt it too. He wasn't bothered by that or thinking of the war by his expression. He was happy.)when he was called over by Rachel to meet one of her relatives.

"I'll have to sit down first." Mary hears him say.

Rachel replies, "Yes, of course. No trouble..."

When Miss Clark arrives with her son, Rose quickly defuses the situation, coming to the rescue, introducing Diana as her friend.

Rose began to rethink about her own upcoming marriage to Atticus, having second thoughts. _If people can be so nasty,_ Rose thinks to herself, _what kind of life would I have with Atticus?_ It was Johnny all over again. And she didn't want to end up like her parents. She asked her fiancé if he would like to go for a walk, she needed to talk to him about something. He knew just the place.

"I'm not sure we have enough in common to make a go of things." She confessed to him. He had taken her to a park where he had played as a child.

At the same time, Mr. Molesley, Daisy and Baxter were walking through the park when they saw Rose and Atticus start arguing, he tried to grab her to keep her from running away from him. Can't a woman change her mind?" She was saying, angrily. "You saw my parents. They're miserable." The last bit was unheard by passers by.

"Should we go and help?" Daisy asked.

"Let's leave them to it." Replied Molesley.

"I don't know. You're never safe till there's a ring's on your finger." Baxter said, nervously.

"Do you want to be safe, Miss Baxter?"

"I might." Her voice was light and fluttery. She didn't completely object to the idea.

Daisy gave them a peculiar look.

Tom confided in Mary and Matthew that he'd stay in the village for work, till he saved enough to go to America. He would at least stay until after Christmas.

* * *

Everything resumed the moment they returned to Downton, the moving forward with the cottages, juggling spending time with the children. Then there was the unveiling of the war memorial on the 25th of October. Miss Patmore didn't want to attend as it would be to painful. Carson understood. It would be painful for them all. He spoke to Lord Grantham about it when they were going over the denials of the ceremony and seating arrangements. He wanted to make sure that Mr. Mason was appropriately accommodated as his only son had served under their roof and had sacrificed his life in the war.

In the meantime, he had to go over the arrangements for having Isis's tombstone made, (she had died a few days after they had come back) it had been a family tradition since his father. The pets of Downton, even the horses had their own little cemetery back beyond the stables, a path leading up to it. He recalled a memory of walking down that path so many times, and with the children. His father's dog that had been with them for ages, had passed. Mary, about only four or five accompanied him to visit her 'favourite' dog.

_"Papa, do dogs go to heaven? What about cats?" _She eyed one, lumbering out of the stable, probably tracking the trail of a mouse.

_"I've heard the phrase that all dogs go to heaven." He had replied. "I don't think cats do. If dogs didn't go there it wouldn't be much of a Heaven, would it?_

When Matthew suggested they get a cat, Robert's reply was no, just as quickly as he had refused when Rose had suggest they get a radio. Robert would take the radio any day, at least that had use. There were cats in the barn, but that's what they were for, to catch mice, and that's where they were to stay. He eventually relented. "It's to stay in the barn where it belongs. I'm not letting one of those ferocious things in the house."

"You just don't understand them. Isn't that what you've all been telling me about horses? I was thinking of a companion for the children."

"HE wants a companion to keep him company on dreary nights when he's too enthralled with his work." Mary drawled. It was a habit she sometimes found annoying and it showed in her voice. "Papa's just sore about them because Great Auntie's cat scratched him once."

"A dog would be more sufficient. And it was a lot of blood."

"You're exaggerating. I was there." Mary rolled her eyes.

"A cat saved my life once. So there's that." Matthew said, confidently, as if he had won an argument. It had actually been a whole herd but he wasn't going to divulge that. It sounded a bit ridiculous even though it did happen. "It would solely be in my presence."

"That we can agree on."

Daniel brought (snuck) the dog that he had been taking care of for a few years now, into the house. Most of the servants, especially the younger ones, adored the unexpected company. He thought it would cheer Lord Grantham up. Their fun was quickly over when Miss Hughes stepped into the servants hall.

"Why does it smell like wet dog in here?" She eyes the dog that Daisy was trying to hide behind her.

Lord Grantham was called down of course, he didn't want to seem affectionate to the dog. "He can stay, but just this once." The mutt eventually followed Robert up. He was grey and matted and looked more like a sheepdog. The dog he would name, Thunder, immediately took to Isis's spot. Robert tried to shoo him but he just whined and wouldn't budge. "He might not be of good breeding I'll tell you that. But I have no doubt he'll be loyal." He bent down and scratched the dogs head.

* * *

Nanny Wallace brought the children up. West had been fired when she was caught calling Sybie a half breed. It would have gone unnoticed if Daniel hadn't addressed Mary with his concerns. He had been upstairs filling in for Molesley as Matthew's valet for the week, as Molesley was taking care of his sick father.

Daniel would occasionally keep a close eye on the children as they would pass him with their nannies on their way to the nursery. He had been watching the old nanny, sensing something not right about her as Matthew had. She seemed to leave Sybie alone unattended for hours and not giving her enough to eat and she would say unpleasant things about Mr. Matthew in front of the children. He informed Mary about it and she had instantly dismissed her, discreetly. The old hag was shaking in her boots. That had been enough for her. She had to appolised to Matthew, saying that he had been right about her.

"You were right about her and I was wrong."

"Lady Mary Crawley, announcing that she's wrong for once?" He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"When it comes to our children, of course." Her brow wrinkled. "I'm their mother. At least I think of myself as one to Sybie. I should have known something was off."

"Parents don't want to assume the worst. It doesn't make you a bad mother." He turned on his side, kissing her lips. She then lied against him, her head on his shoulder. "We're still keeping nanny Wallace?" He asked.

Wallace was young, about their age, maybe younger. She was respectful and kept with the times.

"I like her. At least she's nice." She changed her position, curling up on her side, her head still on his shoulder, almost in the crook of his neck. She lifted her head. "And don't think this situation allows you to do away with nannies completely." As she lied her head back down, he started running his fingers through her hair. She was letting it grow long again.

"No. I was only asking because, I was thinking about getting another one."

"Really?" She bent her head back so that she could see him.

"I was thinking about Tally. I've seen her with the children and they seem to like her."

"Why not? We'll give her a test run."

She was very good with the children and they loved her telling them stories. Not as much as their papa. He did the voices. It was nice watching how they interacted and got along with each other. George's bond with his cousin Sybie was as special as it was with Jo. There was no question that the three of them would be inseparable growing up. It was still early to determine Katie's part. Jo watched after to closely after she had it explained to her, why she was getting all the attention. She couldn't to everything on her own yet because she's too small. Jo must have thought that it meant she should be protected at all costs. But as siblings do, the peace sometimes didn't last for long. They would eventually start fighting. It was never anything psychical. She and George could get into a shouting match. Katie, only nine moths old, would join in. If you listened carefully, it would appear that she trying to be peacekeeper. _Just like Sybil. _It would result in Mary, getting a headache. It made her think, she wasn't ready yet to have another one. Perhaps in a year or two. There was no shouting matches today, all was well.

While they watched them play, Mary talked about when she was their age, that she had horrible nannies. They talked about numerous topics, the estate, family. Feeling a bit nostalgic, Matthew decided to go through his old things, his keepsakes, he had brought with him from Manchester. She helped him get the box down from the closet and set it on the vanity chair. "In the almost four years we've been married, I can't believe I haven't shown you before."

"Mmm hmm. That sounds interesting. Tell you what, I'm going to go with Nanny and help put the children to bed first."

When she didn't come back for a half hour, he wondered what was taking her so long. Maybe she just wasn't that interested in his old life? Then the door opened.

As she entered the bedroom, she told him she had a surprise for him and produced it from behind her back. Mary had found a grey kitten roaming around the barn earlier in the day. She scooped it up and brought it inside.

He came over, all smiles. He scratched it behind the ears. _No where near the same as a baby but it will have to do for_ now. She thought, looking up at him. She marveled how easily a man could soften at the sight of something so helpless and cute.

As he went back to the box, going through it, she was sitting on the bed with the kitten, stroking it's fur as it wondered about. She would retrieve it, set it back in the centre if it got to close too the edge. He wanted to name the cat Tene. He pronounced it Teenie.

"Why Teenie? Why not Tiny?" She asked.

"After my Aunt Tene. Everyone called her Tene. She signed her name T- E-N-E. Even her husband, called her that, he was called Cordie. I always associated her name with her size, especially in a family like hers comprised of taller people. When I was old enough and learned that her real name was Nannie Elvina, I could hardly stop laughing with her about the name. She was a major influence in my life after my father died. She sewed in a very exclusive dress shop. She collected quilts and gave lectures on them often."

"How does one give a lecture about quilts?" Mary was listening with intrigue now, though anyone else would have acted bored with the subject.

"She could lecture anyone on just about anything. And win an argument without a fight."

"Sounds like I would have loved her." They could have won arguments together, teaming up. Maybe she would had even learned more from her, lessons on how to get Matthew to listen. She would have loved to know her secret. Any way, she got that impression that she had known how.

"I wasn't aware that your mother or father had a sister. I know your mother had a brother."

"My father was an only child, yes. She was my Great Aunt actually, on my father's mother's side. The Seawards. My grandmother's name was Eleanor. The name died out with her father's line."

_Eleanor. He must not have had a good relationship with her to have refused it to be part of Katie's name._

"They were rumored to be pirates." He continued. Mary jerked awake, upon hearing this, her eyes opening. She must have drifted off for a second, not because she was bored, the children were running her ragged. The kitten's purring, (she had curled up next to her, making a nest in her arms) was therapeutic and had almost lured her to sleep. Luckily Matthew hadn't noticed. "before they established their honorable fortune. But it was eventually squandered away. I think I have the letter somewhere." He had known of a letter containing a contest to a will, of someone's grandfather's land that was in the will but couldn't be dived out to the family because there was no land. The family threatened to sue, because the lawyer had stated there was no land. The family found out it was because the grandfather had lost it after some very bad business deals and he hadn't updated his will before he died.

She got off the bed, not worrying about the kitten tumbling from the bed, as it was resting. _Lucky fuzzball. _She made her way over to him, where he was going through a box. "Descended from pirates and princes's. What an interesting life you have, Mr. Crawley."

He didn't find the document. It was probably lost to time, like everything else, just a memory. He took out an old photo that was between an old book. He didn't remember it being there. It was of him as a baby, with another child sitting beside him, an arm around him, supporting him. He looked to be about six months old. The other boy or girl in the photograph, that could be three or four, had brown hair.

"Aw, you were so adorable. What happened?" Over his shoulder, she looked at it more closely, "Who is that boy or girl you're with?"

He turned it over. There were no names on the back, only a date, 1886. "I have no idea. Has to be a cousin of some sort. I'll have to ask mother."

* * *

**AN: I caved and decided to put Lord Grantham with Lady Sinderby. I've been re-watching season 5 and I couldn't help but noticed their chemistry and potential for a relationship. Though she is not in the main story, For Ever and Ever, I'm sure she's in the background somewhere! I also decided to not do the Marigold story line, probably an unpopular opinion, I didn't like it, to be honest. She deserves better and just be with Bertie without all the drama.**


	22. November 1924-January 1925

_November 1924_

Atticus and his mother wanted them to stay at Cannigford during the Christmas holiday. He brought it up when the young people sat down for lunch. "Mother and I discussed it and we'd like you all to stay and Canningford for Christmas."

"I didn't know that your family celebrated Christmas." Mary pondered this.

"We didn't before. But we want you all to feel at home. My father was more Orthodox than my mother. We would like you all there."

"Even my mother?" Matthew questioned.

"Of course! My mother enjoys their conversations."

And it's been getting rather lonely since I've got the place all to myself now."

"But it won't be that way for long." Rose interjected, "We have some rather good news. Atticus and I have set the wedding for June. We don't have a date yet." They had reconciled and not long after their engagement was back on.

"June is the perfect month to get married." Mary said. "You have discussed all this with papa, about spending Christmas there."

"Actually it was his idea."

"Speaking of, I was thinking of going to Crawley house. I have something to ask her." He directed the last part at Mary. He headed over to see his mother, though tea wouldn't be for quite a few hours.

* * *

_I was shocked at first to learn that I had had older siblings older than me that had died in infancy, well in this case my brother Edward who had died of an unknown illness, almost ten years before I was born, some of them hadn't made it to birth._

_I might not know what it is like to loose a child, I know what it's like to desperately want one and to try._

_Is the child in the photograph an unknown sibling of mine? I do not think she would keep a secret of this magnitude from me. Unless of course it was another sibling that had died. It still must be very painful._

_And here I have three healthy children, Mary and I had been so blessed. I had no siblings growing up, so I naturally wanted a lot of children. Not because they wouldn't feel lonely. I had always imagined having more than one._

_I was often asked if I was lonely growing up without siblings. I really wasn't. Without siblings around to play with, I was forced to figure out ways to entertain myself. As a young child I enjoyed building things, usually with blocks, things like that. I also liked to draw, even though I was never particularly good at it. As I got older, I became very interested in reading books about medicine and law, which became something that could infinitely satiate my desire to build and learn. I was very curious about why I didn't have a brother or sister. Growing up, all of the children in my neighborhood had siblings and that confused me. I remember asking my parents why I didn't have a brother or sister. Their answer, I didn't have a sibling simply because I just didn't have a sibling. One time after seeing a show about long-lost siblings reunited, I became obsessed with the idea and questioned my mother for a while about the possibility of me having a long-lost twin. At the time, I was confused how she could be so sure that I didn't. I had like that I didn't have to share them but it had also came with a disadvantage._

_Every little thing I accomplished was celebrated, no matter how trivial. That didn't mean that they didn't disapprove of anything that I did. Mother pushed me more than my father, towards the world of medicine. It had a part in my rebellious nature as a young lad. But I had soon learned that my actions only had consequences to myself and my parents. I grew more serious about my studies._

_I was always in my head. I had a lot of alone time, which meant I had a lot of time to think about everything, with no one around to distract me from it. I was and still am always in my head. I analyzed and over-thought everything. I was often in a state of worry. I had a lot of trouble sleeping as a teenager, because I was unable to turn off my thoughts and get into a restful place. I began writing a lot, to get everything out so that my mind would shut down so that I could sleep. I wrote hundreds of awful poems. Perhaps I should try that again. Get out of my own head. What put me here in the first place, I think, battling the nightmares, and the thoughts I do not want to think. I think too much._

_What the hardest thing is about being an only child, as mother gets older, I am the only person she has to turn to. I try to be there for her, but I can't do it all the time, trying to manage my own problems and the responsibilities as a husband and father and to Downton. She is too stubborn to ask for my help. Maybe she thinks it is all too over-whelming for me. They had always done that, kept things for me as if I were too fragile to handle it. As a teenager, I had always found it frustrating because I always had my parent's attention. I was comfortable being alone very early on. When this was combined with my teenage desire to be independent from my parents, it became very frustrating that I always had my parents' attention. I often felt smothered and there was never a break from it because there was never another sibling for them to fret over or distract them. My parents were never super overbearing, but because I was the only child in the house, I felt like I was always being watched. My parents were often over-protective. Of course, I understand the main reason now. They had constantly fretted that something would happen to me, that they would lose me too. And if they had tried to have another child, they must have thought they would lose it._

_She had to tell me, if I faced her with it._

_I placed the picture firmly on the table. "Can you explain this to me?"_

_She said it was a cousin of mine. She was always very sick and frail._

_My Uncle never married or had children when he had died in 1902. And the child in the photo looked perfectly healthy to me. "The truth, mother."_

* * *

"Did you work things out with your mother?" Mary asked before they went to they joined the rest of the family for lunch. Isobel was just arriving and had gone into breakfast room.

"What?" He turned to her, watching his mother go in. They hadn't had a row or anything. Why would she think that?

"Did you find out who the child in the photograph is?"

"Just a distant cousin of sorts."

Violet announced that Shrimpie had finally managed to find Princess Kuragin and when she arrived in England she would arrive straight to her.

"What? When did you find that out?" Edith asked.

"Yesterday. Shrimpie got her out and brought her to safety."

"Are you looking forward to seeing her again?" Rachel asked. She didn't know their history but Robert had shown her the artifacts from Russia.

"Hardly."

"If you don't like her why go through the trouble of having Shrimpie come to her rescue?" Matthew wondered. It was a waste of resources. He probably could have used his experiences to help find Gregson earlier. No, he mustn't think like that. He was just upset with his mother.

"That's what I keep asking." Said his mother.

"Well, you know me. Never complain, never explain."

"You don't usually have trouble complaining." Edith blurted out. As soon as she did, she suddenly felt awkward.

It was nice for a change that he wasn't the one. Matthew thought.

He had overheard Atticus talking to Mary once, when he had first met him, _"He is quite odd though he is a nice man and always means well."_

_"Larry was right about one thing. He is odd but he wasn't before the war."_

_"Of course. I'm so sorry."_

_"Don't be."_

_"I mean I should have understood. I work with a lot of ex-soldiers at the bank."_

* * *

_December 1924_

The children would be traveling with them this time. Their first big trip. Josephine had just had her second birthday. Katie would be a year old in a month. They were all getting so big.

Edith helped them up into the car. She adored her role as Auntie. Robert hoped she would marry and have children of her own day and soon. He had talked to her about it last night at the dinner table, when they were the only one's left. "Your Grandmother would like you to come visit her in New York after the Holidays. She'll no doubt has some parties lined up. Maybe there you'll meet your handsome prince."

"I don't want a handsome prince, Papa." She had accepted her role as a spinster. It wasn't as bad as she had first made it out to be. She'd be the favourite Aunt, as Matthew was the favourite Uncle to Sybie. The children would miss her. All the reason to stay. "And I belong here. There is no one I would want to marry." Having been jilted the first time and then Michael being killed, she didn't know if she could open her heart to trust again.

They all piled into the cars.

The train ride left Matthew a little uncomfortable, as it would often jostle about. More so than their travel to Scotland to stay at Duneagle. She was worried what it might do to his spine. She had pillows be put around him, and later extra one's, much to his annoyance.

He stayed at the manor while most of them men, and Marry went shooting.

"Was it hard? Joining their family?" Rachel asked Tom.

"Hard enough. Sybil was dead and I had to go it on my own."

"Did it take very long?" She wanted to fit in with the rest of the family. It seemed it was taking the longest with Violet and Mary.

"It took a shock to their system but eventually things settled down, they accepted me. They'll accept you since they've gotten past the chauffeur part." He joked. Then with seriousness and a bit of sadness, "It'll be much harder to go."

It would be hard on her to watch him go too, though not as hard as it would be for her husband. It appeared to have a physical effect on him also. She had been growing suspicious of Robert's behavior during the holiday season. He seemed to be wincing occasionally. She tried to ask him about it, what his 'secret' trips to York were for. He said it was nothing to worry about. He'd been having pains in his chest and side.

Mary announced to one of the servants, "I think I had my fun for today. It's about time I headed back." Once she got in, she took a bath and found Matthew with the children. Her heart just fills with so much love, how good he is with them, how natural. He has a bond closer to them more than her, she often feels. He spends more time with them.

_It is incredibly easy, when you are pulled this way and that by life, jobs and the many needs of your kids, to neglect your relationship with your spouse. We should do something special._

But she did not yet want to have another baby. She came over to him, where he sat, giving him a massage.

"I know your touch anywhere." He purrs. He takes her hand and kisses it.

"Do you now? That would have been quite embarrassing if it were Rose or Edith."

"A rose by any other name."

* * *

The dinner was heavenly, not just the meal itself but the music. He could almost get lost in it, as he had an hour before. He could not wait to be in her arms. He would happily like to die there one day. Not on some cold unforgiving ground, alone, how he had seen so many...He must not think of that, he must think of his wife and what he had planned for them.

"Are you up for anymore?" Robert asked him. He was still rather on the thin side; he never regained the weight he had lost in the war.

"No thanks, Robert. I don't want to risk anything."

He leaned over to Mary, "I was wondering if you'd come up with me after dinner." He did not know what had ignited this passion in him, maybe it was the food. "There's something I'll need to take care of first."

* * *

"Alright, would you tell me what it is?" Rachel asked Robert after dinner.

"The doctor thinks it might be angina. After we get back, he wants to run some tests. Nothing to worry about, dear." He puts a hand to her hair. He knows she's thinking of her first husband.

They had both found that they cared more for each other than their first spouses. It didn't mean that she hadn't loved her husband any less and it didn't meant that he had loved Cora any less.

_Sometimes I just think how certain things were not as good as I remember them with my first wife. I feel that we didn't communicate as well as I do with my current wife and, because Cora's gone, I can't resolve these things with Cora._

_With Rachel there is more we can bond with beyond the mutual needs that Cora and I had. There are going to be different thoughts from different people. After almost a year and a half we started seeing each other, we were both worried what people might have thought, so we had stayed strictly friends. As time went on, three years later, we decided we could be more. I have discovered I'm happier with Rachel than I was with Cora, though we did have the best years when the girls were younger. It's is not the same for everyone, being able to find someone to love a second time. Many people get so deep into depression wishing for what we have that we don't learn to appreciate what we have._

_No matter your reason for wondering about this kind of thing - always remember to live your life now. Remember the past, don't let it carry you away from the present._

* * *

"Why was it that you called me up here?" Mary asked. "Do you need anything..."

He grabbed her and twirled her over to the bed. She was on her back and he began to kiss her all over. Her lips, her neck.

She started to sit up. "Wait. Wait. I need to get something."

"I don't think I can, darling." He had wanted her, again, and again, this intimacy. She could excite him just by the look of her. "I'll pull out before it happens."

"You won't be able to feel it, how would you know? It's not always effective and not recommended, according to Marie Stopes..."

"You and her methods." He was nearly laughing at her playfully now, " we could try our own."

Who was she kidding? She could not resist him either. If there were to be a child, there would be one. They needed this.

He lifted up her dress, pulling down her knickers. Not a moment later he was inside her, taking her right there, standing up! He had to lean over a bit, his arms bent by her sides for support so that he wouldn't fall over, grabbing her thighs, pulling her to him as he thrust. It only lasted five or six times before he was spent. He collapsed beside her, half off the bed.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, out of breath. He stroked her hair.

"No." She said, soothingly. They climbed into bed. Leaning over she swept his fringe away. "It's alright." It was alright. He hadn't come. There would be no baby. Then why did she feel disappointed?

They had another lovely Christmas. Their first real one after the war had been George's second, when he had been a year old. Next year they would be home decorating the tree and hopefully, Mary thought, by then there would another baby. She would be ready. The new year filled with new promises.

* * *

It was their last few days at Canningford, not a freezing cold day, relatively warm but cold enough to need a coat. Tom and Mary joined Rose and Atticus for a walk.

"Why were you all in a huddle over breakfast?" Mary asked. The younger couple had been whispering something to each other at the dinning table, their heads practically together.

"Atticus and I have been talking. We decided to move to New York. Not till after the wedding of course. There's a lot more opportunities there." When referring to opportunities, Mary was fairly certain it didn't mean just jobs.

"Oh, congratulations."

"Thank you. Don't you go to America soon?" Atticus asked Tom.

"I am. I'm going to Boston."

"When?"

"After the new year."

"You are staying for Katie's birthday." Mary reminded him. He didn't forget. It didn't seem right for him just to take off the day after the New Year and forget about his favourite nieces' birthday. She was at the point where she could start to recognise people now and she was especially excited when ever she saw Tom or her Papa. The way she would bounce and giggle and flap her arms.

"Of course!"

"Poor Mary. She hates to be left behind when everyone else is getting on with the rest of their lives." Edith said.

"It isn't bad. I've got my husband and children. It's the thought of being left behind with you." She and Edith exchange sour looks. "What will happen to this place then?"

"Rose and I plan on selling it and the horses, and give half of the profit to your father that he can put into the estate."

"That's very generous of you! But why give it up? When you can live comfortably for the rest of your lives."

"We don't need all that space, living in a big fancy house." Rose replied. "You can live a comfortable life in New York as well as anywhere! Atticus enjoys real work."

* * *

Lord Merton came to visit Isobel at Crawley house, on the day she got back. She had still refused his proposal. She did want to marry again. She wanted to be happy but if she couldn't be accepted into the family, she saw no chance of that happening.

"You seem to think I'm angry with your sons. Not at all." She wasn't accepted by his younger son either. Tim had seemed to stand up for her at the dinner but he quickly had fallen back to Larry's side, as younger siblings do.

"Why can't we forget that horrible evening ever happened? I accept that they have no desire to see their mother replaced. I've taken such care to shield them from the truth."

"Which is?"

"I was wretched with their mother. We weren't very well suited. Now they're preventing my chance at real happiness."

"I'm sorry. But I'm not prepared to live the rest of my life in an atmosphere that is toxic and full of anger and resentment." She had to think of Matthew as well, putting him in that sort of environment could jeopardize his health. The stress wouldn't be good for him. Larry would be a part of his life. As for the scene he had caused, after that fight, she was afraid what would happen next. He had just gotten his life back together. She intended to keep Larry Grey as far away from her son as possible. "I will not come between his father and his sons."

"Then may I ask you to be honest?' He came over and sat down on the sofa next to her. "Is that the only barrier? If they were to welcome you into the family, you would marry me?"

"If they can accept me and my son. I would love to but..."

"So, there is my challenge."

One he would fail. She knew things wouldn't change. His sons were adults stuck in their ways. And she had just lied to him. That wouldn't make a good basis for a marriage.

She was beginning to lean more toward Richard. He understood her. He had an understanding how things were with Matthew. Is that the only reason why she was drawn to him?

No. She could genuinely love him. He had some of the same qualities Reginald had that had made her fall in love with her first husband. However, there is something that should be considered. Children, no matter how old they are, see it as a betrayal of their late parent if the survivor starts dating a "replacement" Would Matthew see it that way? Whomever she chose, he would be respectable about it, least can be said for Larry and Tim. When it came down to it, she will explain to him.

_You grieve, you never forget. But you're still the same you. You're still a person who longs for a close relationship with one person. It has been nearly twenty years, it's about time I was deserving of love and companionship. I love companionship but I don't want a unhappy union to get it._

She received a letter during tea, confirming her belief. Larry wouldn't change his mind. That settled it then. Violet had joined her instead of Matthew that afternoon.

"At least there's one silver lining. Doctor Clarkson will be pleased." Violet chuckled. Isobel was not amused.

* * *

The family were all in the drawing room before dinner. Robert had called them all down. "I wanted to wait till we were all together. You'll all be pleased that I am not about to have a heart attack. Your father had an ulcer." They had all noticed his discomfort in Canningford. His 'upset" stomach seemed more than that.

"Oh, what a relief." Mary chimed. It was good to not have to worry about his health as well as Matthew. Even though he was perfectly fine as well.

Rachel agreed. "We'll take it seriously. White fish, chicken, no alcohol."

"Steady on!"

"I mean it. You frighten me. I don't like to be frightened."

"Even so, there must be room for negotiation."

"Why don't you lay off everything until after New Years?" Mary suggested. "You can give up alcohol and Matthew can give up smoking those dreadful cigars."

Matthew's temporary expression read, why did you have to bring me into this, before saying, "I already gave it up a while ago darling."

Her eyes said, I didn't know that.

"And then we'll have a Happy New Year, and Katie's birthday as my last memories of Downton."

"Don't make it sound so final." Rachel had found the transition into this family a bit easier. She wished he didn't have to go.

"Oh, I'll be back. I'll need to see how the village turned out."

"That reminds me. Good news in the evening post. The Della Francesca has sold, amazingly well!" Robert announced. Mary also had an announcement. "Not expecting another one already?" He teased his daughter. He also sounded hopeful. He too would like another boy in the family, if anything happened to George. Not his only reason, of course. He should have a brother to play with.

"No. Nothing like that." She turned to Rose and Atticus.

His step-son told of his plans he had for Canningford. "Downton will be secured for generations to come!" Robert said, free from all worry. All the while, Rachel didn't really look pleased, more so surprised. Matthew had a worried expression. They didn't know if it would be safe for that long. No would could.

Carson opened the door for them to go through to dinner.

Mary noticed that Matthew was a bit mopey when she went up for the evening.

"I feel utterly useless."

"Even though we're financially secure, it will still need managing. Downton sill needs you. I need you. And the children. We'll have a lot more time on our hands." She went over to where he was sitting and kissed him on the cheek.

"Speaking of, is their any special plans for Katie's birthday."

"Not particularly. Just a small party for the family. Miss Patmore is making a cake."

"Hopefully this time she won't burn it." They both chuckled and he got back to what ever he was writing.

* * *

Dickie came to see her one last time.

"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"I'm afraid not but I will always thing of you with great affection and wish you nothing but the best."

"Well, that sounds a lot better if you had spat in my eye. This has less to do with my sons and more to do with yours! I know you won't let anything stand in the way between you and him. But he's a grown man. He has his own life. I love you Isobel Crawley."

"I have told you of my son's condition in confidence. I cannot expose him to that, and I certainly will not poison the years we have left by setting you against your children. If you did love me at all..."

Violet came in to the sitting room after being shown in by the maid. "Oh, have I interrupted a lover's tryst?"

"Thank you for injecting humour in to this moment of misery. I must go. There's nothing more to say. Thanks for you time, Mrs. Crawyley." He swiftly left.

"That was rather sad."

"Yes, it was sad."

That wasn't the only sadness that rained down on the village, other than that snow, as New Years Eve approached. Soon it would be new years day and Katie's birthday. It all signaled Tom's departure. He'd be leaving on the fifth.

As Tom, Mary, Matthew and Edith gathered in the nursery, the watched the snow swirling against the windows. They were reminded of Sybil. Tom wanted to say a prayer for her. "What do you say we have a moment to think of Sybil. Who better than the four people who loved her the most."

"How about Mama and Papa?" Edith asked teary eyed.

"But we were the ones that were supposed to grow old with her. And who knows when we all will be together again." They grabbed hands and formed a circle.

"Darling, Sybil," Mary began, "Where ever you are we send all our love and kisses for the happiest of new years..."

They were interrupted by Robert, "Sybie's last year in this house, the house where she was born. You wouldn't consider leaving her here until you've settled in?"

"No, I would not."

"No." He had thought as such.

"But I love her as much as you love her."

"We must go down. They're waiting for us."

They all went downstairs, gathered around the tree that was still up. Upstairs and downstream, singing to ring in the New Year. As she and Matthew sang their song, "if you were the only girl in the world, and you were the only boy," she couldn't stop looking at him when he sang his part. She didn't know what she would do without him. Everyone else was leaving her but he still remained. That made the grief all that much more bearable. And she had no doubt it was the same for him.

_**AN: I have had difficulty where to place this, as you can tell. I finally decided to make a short and sweat chapter, with more M/M scenes and Matthew with the children as promised!**_


	23. March 1925-March 1927

_1925_

It was the year of weddings, it seemed. There was still four months away till Atticus and Rose's wedding. In July it would be Daniel and Tally's. Everyone had been expecting that. What they hadn't was Carson and Miss Hughes. They hadn't set a date for theirs yet.

It was early March and it was hunting season. Mary felt a little off her game. She had fallen off her horse. Good thing she had the instinct to tuck and roll.

"Are you all right?" Her father rushed over. One of the fellow hunters, Robert Faircliff, who was also the stable hand, was helping her up.

"Of course. No bones broken anyway. Thanks to Mr. Faircliff here."

"Should I take you back to the house My Lady." The stableman asked.

"No need. If you could just give me a hand up." _No need to tell Matthew._

He was inside. He overheard Edith speaking on the phone with her editor. "I'm not taking any tone. I'm reminding you of the dead line. Goodbye." She slammed the phone back on to the receiver.

"Trouble up mill?"

"My editor, Mr. Skinner again. I think the problem is me. He doesn't like working for a woman."

"I think you were right not to sell it and take the money."

"I think I am." She said proudly.

* * *

There were many changes still coming to Downton. The strongholds that Matthew and Tom had helped put in place were holding up. But that wasn't all. The staff had been cut back since the war. It now needed to be cut back in size considerably. Robert went over it with Carson. "This is part of a bigger conversation but sooner or later we need to discuss the future staffing requirements at Downton."

"We cut down quite a bit My Lord. We only got one hall boy and two housemaids. And there's the kitchen staff that have left. We have not replaced them. As a matter of fact both of the housemaids have handed in their notice. One is leaving to get married and Madge has found a job in a shop."

"I know. But there's no need to do anything drastic. The estates doing well, thanks to Mr. Crawley and Mr. Branson. But I don't want to feel out of step with my fellow man. Times are changing Carson. It waits for no man. I can't think of anyone who has an under Butler anymore." Come to think of it. "If I could stop history in it's tracks, maybe I would. But we can't. Nor you nor I can hold back time."

"Unfortunately."

But it was not just the Abbey being hit by the changes, nor just the village but the village hospital as well. The board had gathered in the library.

"The fact is that The Royal Yorkshire County Hospital wants to take over our little hospital." Violet protested.

"There might be benefits to the village." Lord Merton said. " If we form such a partnership our patients would have access to more modern equipment," he turned to Isobel, to more advanced medicine."

Isobel knew what he was doing. He wanted to be on her side, to let her know he was thinking of Matthew. That wasn't the way he was going to win her affection to something more other than friendship.

"Our fundraising would be more efficient." She agreed with him but only for Matthew's sake, thinking how it could benefit him and others, of course. He wouldn't have to travel as far as London or Leeds, and wouldn't have to deal with the rainy weather taking a tole on his joints and muscles; that made it more difficult to take him when he needed an out of town appointment.

"And the price of the fundraising would be to lose all control and to become the tools of a faceless committee in York." Violet strongly disagreed.

"What matters more health or power?" Isobel asked.

"What matters is the power over the maintenance of our own health!"

"Lady Grantham is right." Replied Clarkson, "at least, our independence is surely not something we should just abandoned without a second thought." Isobel would know that he meant well, that they should think about it before deciding.

"Where did you hear about this?" Isobel asked Violet.

"A friend whispered it to me in York. We'll all be getting the letter soon."

"So you want to protect your power at the expense of the patients. I want to protect the patients at the expense of my power." Her anger and frustration was coming more from instinct, that she didn't know she was capable of, to protect her son and what would be in his best interests. She might be a nurse but she was a mother first, that's what the war reminded her to be. It took his near death from his injuries and his suffering to realise. She wondered if she would ever have a chance to make up for a horrible mother she'd been, if she deserved it. She had let grieving for her lost children, and the death of the love of her life, and her fear, get in the way of that. He would give her a chance. He would forgive her because he was his father's son, and because he loved her. And she loved him as only a mother could. Her only regret was that it took so long to get there.

"And may the best man win." Violet said triumphantly and confident as if she already had won.

"I'm glad we agree on this." Lord Merton leaned over to Isobel.

"Don't make too much of it." She didn't want him to jump to anything.

* * *

Mary came in to bathe and dress before Matthew came up.

"What should we do about that hair?" Anna asked as she picked up the brush. "I'm afraid you'll be late going down."

"I wouldn't have washed it but I came off and it was full of mud. Don't tell Mr. Matthew. You'll just have to do your best."

"Don't tell me what?" He was standing in the doorway.

"Why I'll be late for our dinner. I had to clean up. I didn't want to smell like manure."

"You could smell like anything and I would still find you beautiful." He came up to put his arms around her.

"Alright. You'll mess up Anna's progress. Go ahead downstairs."

At the dinner table, they discussed how Tom was doing in America.

"He's found a flat with a garden and found a school for Sybie." Mary stated.

"Speaking in an American accent." Robert said with disapproval. He was still hurt about Tom taking his youngest daughter's only child halfway across the world. He had to keep telling himself that Tom had her best interests in mind.

"What would be wrong about that?" Mary asked. His first wife had been American. It had been chosen for them. After Patrick, after they had thought he died on Titanic, only to find out he had died in the war, her papa wanted her to find someone she was happy with. Though he secretly hoped it would be Matthew, he had since the beginning. He had even been in denial that Matthew would be paralyzed and fatherless for the rest of his life. When he had regained his mobility, and other things, it was a miracle, a blessed miracle, despite what Clarkson had said, that he had been misdiagnosed.

When it had been announced that there was a possibility that he could have children, Robert was overjoyed. He had been appalled that Cora still didn't want Mary to marry Matthew. She had spoken as if he was an inconvenience. It seemed that Mary's future, the future they had planned for her, was more important to her than their daughter's happiness. That it would always be something, it won't be easy. It could ruin Mary's life. Did he want grandchildren?

Of course he wanted Grandchildren. She had spoken as if Sybil and Edith would never have any either.

_"He is a son to me and my heir."_

_"That's just my point. You're too attached."_

_"Too...Do you hear yourself?"_

_"There's a small chance, Robert. Even if they were to...imagine how hard it would be on those children, most of all Mary. Taking care of a crippled husband..."_

_"I'll forget you said that."_

_"Even though he's a little less so than he was, the fact still remains that he still is. Imagine how they will be treated."_

_"Treated by who. By you?"_

_"Robert, that's not what I meant. It would demand a lot. If they do have children, he probably won't be around long enough to see them grow up."_

_"We can't know that."_

_"If it isn't to be so and he lives to be Earl, how will he manage to run the county?"_

_"He might be crippled as you put it, but in his mind...he's still the man I met back in Manchester all those years ago..." but he really wasn't. Cora could see it too._

_"It won't be just that. You haven't thought about it, what do they call it, this war neurosis."_

_"He just has the nightmares. It will pass in time." She still gave that disbelieving look. "Don't you have any faith?" He truly believed that their love could conquer all. "What's more important to you? Her success or her happiness? Mary wouldn't be happy with anyone else._"

They had their disagreements in the end, but she should have been able to be a grandmother. And when he held his grandson for the first time, all his dreams were realised. He could hardly be pulled away. The day his grandchildren were born were the happiest of his life. He had long ago let go of feeling guilty for being happy. It would have been selfish to hold on to that. He got to share that experience of becoming a grandparent with Rachel. She had never treated Matthew indifferently. Though she approached him differently when he was using his chair, in a more gentler way, like he were fragile. That couldn't be helped. She didn't mean to do it. The stark difference between her and Cora. He didn't want to think ill of his first late wife. He still loved her in his own way. She had been the only thing he'd ever known. Tom took his oldest grandchild from the things she had ever known.

"Poor, Tom. If he was a fish out of water here, what is he in Boston?" Violet asked with sympathy.

"A fish back in water I should think!" Isobel was piling food onto her plate without looking up. It took no expert, Matthew observed, that they had had a disagreement of some sort. "There's a tremendous Irish community there. If you ask me, he's landed on his feet."

"How is the search going for his replacement?"

"We don't need a replacement." Mary held her head high with confidence.

"Why not?" Violet looked like she was startled.

"Because Mary's his replacement. I appointed her new agent." Matthew beamed.

"Long live women's rights and all that. I understand helping Edith with the publishing company..." Robert turned back to Mary, "But it's no good to take on a job that wears you out."

"I'm doing it now, aren't I?"

"I've been more than capable to carry the load." Matthew reminded them. Though it often wore him out. "If I can do it, she can."

"Tom and I have worked together since he came back from Dublin. Why shouldn't I?" Mary stated to back her husband and her friend up.

"What about the heavy lifting?" Granny asked.

"Granny, I think I can lift quite as much as sad old Jarvis before Matthew chased him away."

"I suppose we only know what we're capable of when we test our limits." Violet no longer objected. She would have to see that play out.

"And we certainty know what you're capable of." Isobel quipped.

* * *

For the usual Sunday tea, Isobel had Matthew over. He sensed tensions were running high between her and Violet, not just between him, since he had discovered that she had kept the identity of that child in the photograph a secret from him. He did not know weather to believe her explanation. He sensed it had to do more with her social life, there lack of, or rather who hadn't been coming round. He had seen her whole demeanor change around Lord Merton to a more chipper one. Now that he was hardly in her presence, she appeared rather solemn.

"I've noticed that Lord Merton hasn't been coming round lately." They had been seeing each other for a few years now, as friends. He wasn't aware of anything else going on between them. Doctor Clarkson had seen coming round more often than the old Baron. Matthew had met Lord Merton a few times, not long enough to make a connection. He didn't really like the man. He wasn't a bad person. That's just how it was. He probably would have come to accept him if his mother had chosen a relationship with him. After all the man was Marys' godfather. He did seem like a nice man. How he could have such horrible sons was beyond him. Maybe they took after their mother. He shouldn't make assumptions on someone who was dead and couldn't vouch for their own character.

Clarkson and his mother worked at the hospital and were on the board together, and were close friends. But on the other hand, so did Lord Merton. Perhaps she had a closer bond with Clarkson, because of how much he had helped in his recovery.

_Mother is a grown woman, she does not require nor does she need your approval._

"We had a disagreement and we decided to part ways."

"This disagreement wouldn't happen to be called Larry Grey?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Come on now, mother." He chided as he poured cream into his coffee. It was obvious. "I can handle Larry."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She never wanted to see a repeat of that. She saw his eyes gleam, with what, she couldn't quite place. _With what happened last time._

"I had a momentary lapse in judgment, mother." It was as if he had read her mind. "It won't happen again. He did insult my wife." He said it as if it had justified his action. He took a sip from his mug.

"That's right. It won't. Not if I can have a hand in it." Had that been all that was, a momentary lapse in judgment, when he had been about to strangle that poor man? He wasn't exactly, but no one should go through that experience. There was no sense in asking now if he had been having a flash back or if he had blacked out, he wouldn't remember it.

"I don't want you to make sacrifices because of me. I don't want to get in your way."

"My dear Matthew, you could never get in the way." As she had been telling him from day one. He could never. He wasn't a burden. She didn't want him to feel that this was his fault, to feel that she couldn't have a normal life because of him. " It was my choice. We didn't agree on a number of things..."

"I want you to be happy. Don't you think it's about time..."

There was a knock on the door, followed by the maids voice, "Doctor Clarkson is here, ma'am." She entered with the doctor behind her.

Matthew stood up, "You're not ill?" He asked his mother.

"No. Not at all."

"Nothing like that." Clarkson further assured. "This isn't a house call or rather that sort of house call. Your mother invited me to join you."

"Oh. I might as well stay then." He sat back down. "You've been keeping my mother rather busy." While he wasn't looking at them Clarkson and Isobel exchanged looks, wondering what he meant by that, "With her work." Matthew looked up from buttering his piece of bread. "It's hard to get her away. What ever it is seems to have Cousin Violet up on her haunches."

"Oh that." Clarkson said, gladly relieved. "The York County Hospital wants to merge with the hospital in the village. That would mean availability to more modern equipment and medicine..."

"That could benefit me. I see."

"Please don't think that your mother and I arranged this to ambush you."

"I thought that Richard would be some nice company." Her son didn't take note of the slip.

After it was time for Matthew to go, they saw him off.

"Do you think he noticed anything?" Clarkson asked as he watched the car pull away.

"No. Matthew doesn't notice that sort of thing. When it doesn't involve him and Mary."

* * *

_May 1925_

"I ought to go up to London soon." Edith was discussing with Matthew after dinner. He, Mary and Edith had departed for the drawing room. Mary was sitting at the card table, playing solitaire, listening in. She partly didn't like them being as thick as thieves. She supposed his sister in-law and him were friends, now that Tom was gone. He needed something to do, to distract him from his own mind.

"Is this about your editor again?"

"Partly him. I must get him back on track. But then there's another matter. I'm trying to find a new tenant for the flat."

"You mean Gregson's flat." Mary corrected.

"I mean my flat. The lease is due at the end of the month. I've still been paying it and..." She just couldn't let it go right after Michael died. She couldn't bare going inside the first several months, and at the same time didn't want to sell off his things. So she had kept it as it was. "I'd like to start making some of my money back. But after that I don't know what I should do. If it would be good for me to have my own London base."

"It's a thought." Matthew was glad that she was moving on in the world, and as much as enthralled that she was taking on challenges in a man's world. The war had opened up opportunities for woman to have jobs, but the rest of the world were stuck in their old fashioned ways. A woman running her own business, most were still unprepared for that.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed."

It was only him and Mary now.

"Edith alone on the town. What will she get up to?"

"At her age, she's entitled to get up to something."

"Watch it, Mr. Crawley, she's only a year younger than me." It made him think of his approaching birthday. He was dreading forty. Mary didn't want to think of it at the moment. They never brought it up. It was a discussion, she felt, would lead to an argument. She couldn't imagine not growing old with him and yet she could not imagine him old. Just thinking of it made her stomach twist into knots. She wasn't sure if it was only because of that. Could they really have another child? Should they? He's made it this far with the many obstacles thrown in their way, he can get through anything. He had a long life ahead of him. She knew he wouldn't think so. He probably had a good five or so years left, ten if he was lucky_. That's what's on his mind. Maybe that's why it seems he's been pulling away, how ever present._ She felt that their time together was being stolen away by Edith. But that was just ridiculous.

"I wish you wouldn't encourage her." She continued.

He could automatically tell that it wasn't jealousy of her sister that was bothering her, far from it. "What's the matter?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just worried about you. I'm your husband. I'm allowed."

"What makes you think anything's the matter?"

* * *

Matthew accompanied Edith to Michaels' flat in London. He couldn't imagine himself and his family living in a place like this of their own, not only would it be too small for their growing family, "How exotic!." It felt as foreign as coming home from the battlefield to Downton had been.

"I met Virginia Wolfe in this room and Lytton Strachey, although he didn't stay very long."

He envied her. "I wish I'd known your Mr. Gregson better. He did seem a nice chap."

"Even though he was married?"

Matthew nodded, regretting that he had interfered with that aspect of her life, though it had come from a good place, wanting to protect her. It hadn't stopped them from seeing each other and it ultimately led to his death, seeking a divorce in Germany. What had the man been thinking though? Germany had been in a state of disarray after the war, and with dangerous characters on the rise like Hitler. But when you're in love, any sacrifice was worth it.

"People aren't so curious in London." Edith continued, hopeful. There had been rumors about her and Michael here but no one seemed to make that big a deal about it.

"No. They couldn't care less. Not since the war. They got more things to worry about."

"Isn't that a relief?" She saw him freeze. For a moment, she thought his eyes had gone dark, this fearful, almost glassy stare to them, "And then there's the museums and galleries and theatre." She added, redirecting to a lighter topic.

"People talk of such things but one only ever goes when friends come to stay."

Edith blushed with delight and embarrassment, for it seemed odd for Matthew to refer himself as a friend of hers, (that's what it sounded like he was suggesting) while she and Mary were still at odds with each other.

"When's the train arriving?" Matthew asked, continuing the conversation in a different direction, sensing things start to become a bit awkward. He hoped he hadn't overstepped, and she hadn't seen him almost pull away. It would be devastating for him and Mary if the episodes came back. Mary was convinced they would go away on their own.

He had never told her what Clarkson had told him, six months after George was born, that they would never entirely go away. He could relapse at any given time.

_"It's like any disease that goes into remission_." Clarkson had said. "_You will have this for the rest of your life." _Even as he had gone on about that it could be managed with exercises and continued support, and by accepting the man that he was now, it had felt like his life had come to an end all over again. But life had gone on. A life he was grateful for.

"You're right. We should be heading back." Edith said.

* * *

Roberts' family friends, The Darnleys' had to sell their estate where Mr. Mason was a tenant there, whom most likely would loose his tenancy. He wondered if Robert, more so Matthew, would put in a good word for him to keep it. There was to be an auction on the contents of the house on the tenth. Matthew didn't mind that it would be on his birthday. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper one. He had hardly wanted to celebrate his birthday two months after he had been injured. Birthdays used to feel forced to him, celebrating another day to be alive. It should mean more to him now, with after the war and how much time he might or might not have left. He knows he mustn't think like that. Que sera, sera.

He visited his mother earlier in the day with Mary, talking about birthdays past, embarrassing him, as mother's do.

"Matthew was born in South Africa."

"I didn't know that." Mary turned in her chair, facing her husband. "He didn't tell me."

"He didn't know. Reggie and I were twelve years into our marriage and still no children. After we lost so many, we were told we couldn't have anymore. So we prepared for a life without them, dedicating our work to help set up a hospital for the malnourished children. You could imagine our surprise when we found we were going to have Matthew."

Mary now noticed him sitting rather uncomfortably. She didn't know what Isobel was keeping from her, what they both were.

He hoped that she wouldn't pressure him about it in front of mother, or ever for that matter. Mary didn't know that he had had a brother that had survived, a few months at least. She knew only of the ones she had lost. Perhaps his mother had more that had lived and died that she didn't want to tell him about. Perhaps his difficulty to have them at first hadn't been mainly due to his injury, and had been something he had inherited from his mother. He was having difficulty again. He would very much like to have another child. What would be the point of telling her of his dead brother that he had never met?

Mary was telling Isobel about the interesting family history he had told her. "Is there anything that you haven't told me?" She asked cheekily, though she knew he was keeping something from her, more deeper than this.

"Nothing that you don't already know." He put his hand on her knee under the table. "The rest of the details of a country Lawyer would bore you."

As they left for Mallerton, Edith announced her plans after Mary asked about her reluctance to go.

"Are you planning to turn up your nose at the new owners?"

"No, I just don't think I'll be in Yorkshire quite so much in the future."

The three woman, Mary Edith and Rachel descended the stairs.

Robert was waiting by the foyer. "What a funny thing to say."

"It's time to go forward. And I'm unmarried so I must do it alone."

"That sounds rather severe." Robert still had hopes of her marrying someday and giving him more grandchildren. He thought she was getting a little too far ahead of herself.

"I think it sounds rather positive." Rachel said, as they made their way out the front doors. Matthew was already in one of the cars with Daisy and Mr. Mason, also attending the auction, and wanted Daisy and Matthew to accompany him.

As they arrived, Robert stood admiring the old estate, "I can hardly believe it. I used to come here as a boy."

"Sic transit gloria mundi." Matthew said in Latin.

"Would you be as philosophical when it's our turn?" Mary asked, from ahead of him.

He waited to go in with Daisy and Mr. Mason. He had brought his wheelchair at Mary's bequest, although there would be places to sit for the auction, you could never be too careful. There were stairs and he hadn't brought his stick. Daisy and Mr. Mason stood beside him, their arms linked around his, as they walked up the steps.

"I think of you both as a daughter and son." He said to them, as they entered, "I'd like to think that my William thought of you as a brother, not just in arms. I also want to thank you, for giving your medal to him."

"You don't need to thank me, Mr. Mason. He was far more deserving..." He cut himself of as Mary approached them. Daniel was brining in his chair.

"Are we thinking of buying anything or just looking?" She asked.

"Just looking." He responded, tiredly. She hoped he wasn't actually and was just bored.

"I think I might have a poke around." Mr. Mason said. "though I wanted to see the house more than anything. That there were a wedding present when Sir John got married! I contributed half a crown to it. Shame to see it sold."

Daisy didn't think it fair, that they were selling Mr. Mason's memories too. She wanted to confront the Darnley's. Mr. Mason and Mr. Matthew tried to warn her. She ended up making things worse for Mr. Mason. Matthew convinced Robert to try and convince Carson to give Daisy a second chance.

* * *

Mary thought it very generous of him as they went up to bed.

"She still didn't listen when I warned her. I hope our children won't be like that." He put aside the book he was reading on the nightstand. Mary had given it to him as a birthday present.

"They won't. And Daisy's hardly a child." She had been worried about it before, that the children wouldn't listen to Matthew because of his disability. _Society teaches us at a very early age that somehow people with disabilities are less capable, have no authority, and are 'lesser' persons._ Children are also pretty perceptive. Giving them positive reinforcement, treating him no differently, had so far ensured it not to happen. They were more likely to listen to their papa and were usually well behaved. It had given them a more caring and mature nature but they were still children non the less. "They're all perfect angels." George had the gentleness and humour of his father, Katie hardly ever made a fuss, Josephine, had her mothers looks and personality but sometimes it exceeded hers. She knew her own mind like her papa. She was the worst of her and Matthew. Before she was even a year old she had even command over her brother. At two she had her papa wrapped around her finger.

She came running into their bedroom wearing a pair of Sybil's best pearls and an entire bottle of perfume, the empty container in her hand. George, who had been chasing her, stopped in the doorway. Mary snatched it away from her; Jo looked startled.

The perfume was all she had left of her sister, apart from her niece who was halfway across the world. They didn't make it anymore. She would often go into her room still and just take in the sent of her. Now that smell would soon fade with everything else. Before she could scold her, George apologised for her.

"Don't be mad, mummy. Girls like to wear pretty things."

Mary smiled at her son as their eyes met. He was so kind, so forgiving like his father. Both of the children climbed onto the bed. Katie was in the nursery sleeping. She loved them all. But it was Josephine that really tried her patients. She was spoiled by her papa. There was no scolding her in his presence.

Tally soon came to get them ready for bed.

"What was she thinking? That was part of the only thing I have left of her!"

"Don't yell at the baby, darling. You'll upset her. She didn't know."

"Katie's the baby. Jo's two years old. If we don't discipline her now, she'll become a little terror by the time she's twelve. Trust me, I know, because I was."

"And you turned out just fine." He kissed her on the forehead. "Discipline is for boys." But he never reprimanded George either.

"Happy Birthday, darling." She said, kissing him in return. "I hope I look as good as you do when I'm forty."

"You will." He replied, pulling her closer.

* * *

Carson came up to the breakfast room, a Mr. Finch was in the drawing room, waiting to see the agent.

"I'll see to him." Mary said immediately. Matthew was still in bed and she had decided to go downstairs so he could have a lie in. He was going to have a busy day in London with Edith. He needed it, after the night they had last night. Rachel had apparently stayed in bed too. She shuddered to think of the reason, assuming she was taking breakfast in bed. She couldn't bring herself to think that her dear Papa would do anything of that nature, despite her and her sister's existence.

Much to Robert's chagrin, he made no fuss over it. "You'll have to manage it. I have some errands to run and I promised I'd meet Granny at eleven."

"I want to be left to manage him. It's my job." She said with eagerness._ I'm starting to sound like Josephine. And she's only two. But Matthew believes in me. I must put his faith in me to the test._

Mr. Finch had been expecting a man of course. Why wouldn't he? But it didn't go as bad as she thought it would after she had to explain about Matthew, and that he had much confidence in her.

"I'll need to discuss the estate entries this year in the Fat Stock Show at Mallton. You won't want to be bothered with it."

"I thought all the Fat Stock Shows took place before Christmas."

"They do, usually. This is an experiment."

"You were hoping to discuss it with Mr. Branson, I presume."

"Yes. But I now know that's not possible. But if you could just tell me who's replaced him."

"I know this might come as a bit of a shock. But you're looking at her. I've been working with Mr. Branson for some years and now I intend to manage myself, along with my husband and his Lordship."

"Well, it is a changing world. I don't suppose I could talk to either of them by chance?" It was clear he preferred a man but he was being respectable about it.

"I'm afraid his lordship is out at the moment. And my husband is resting. He was injured in the war and some days he needs his rest."

"I understand mi'lady."

_Most older gentlemen do. Most of papa's generation had fought in the Boers._ "I know you still might have some reservations but I assure you that he has much confidence in me."

"We're really hoping for a decent entry from the Abbey." Finch continued, enthusiastically.

* * *

Before Matthew was to go to London with Edith, he wanted to stop by his mother's. Not before telling his Mary how proud of her he was.

"I have an amazing wife."

"Do you mean about how I managed Finch or last night?" She continued to help him get dressed. "If it were up to me, I'd prefer you wear nothing at all."

"Easy now. Don't tempt me. I made a promise to be there for Edith."

Mary pulled a face. _I sometimes worry how much time you spend with her._ But she didn't voice it. "Try not to waste too much energy. I have a surprise for you when you get home."

He was all the more eager and anxious now, trying to decipher what it could be, during the ride over to Crawley House. She couldn't possibly want him again, two nights in a row. He wasn't sure if he would be up to it, even if he did his best to reserve his energy. The last time she had found him this irrespirable, being unable to resist her urge for that primal, intimate need, had been the first time...she couldn't be...could she?

His thought was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out to them. It was his mother, trying to flag down the car. He told the chauffer to pull over, that he could walk from here. Hornsby asked if he would be needing his wheelchair.

"No. But thank you, Nige. It's just a few feet from Crawley House from here. Come back in about a half an hour."

"Make that an hour and a half." Isobel corrected. It seemed she didn't see enough of him these days. Matthew was deeply displeased as he watched the car drive off.

As he walked along side his mother she told him she had been talking to Lord Merton about the updated ex-ray machines.

"You could give it a try if you want to."

"I'm supposed to go up to London with Edith today."

"It won't take very long and the images are much clearer."

On their way over to the village hospital, which was just down the street, he asked her, "back on speaking terms?"

"He thinks we're getting along. Even though I caution him that nothing will come of it. That man is so incorrigible it's annoying."

Matthew smirked at that.

She was right. They were much clearer. It took an hour for the images to get done but he still had an hour left before he and Edith departed for London. Plenty of time. The x-ray showed that he had a piece of shrapnel almost resting against his vertebrae. His mother said he did not have to have it removed if he didn't want to. He could also see where the spine, his spine, had been partially transected. It fascinated him. The science behind the machinery.

"It must make a point to your argument that I could have been a doctor if I had set my mind to it. Don't you think? That I would have been a good doctor?"

"It means you just have adverse interests in many areas. That's what makes you interesting. I think that's why Mary loves you so much."

"Mother." He grumbled at her. There was more to him than that. But he hardly wanted to talk to her about it.

It made her smile. After so long, she finally felt that he was truly her son again. "You have a mind of your own. I think it's truly wonderful." She paused, just to look at him, as they walked out of the hospital, her arm linked with his to support him. He should be using his chair but they would only be out for a short time. Her beautiful boy that had become a handsome young man. It was hard to believe he was now middle aged. An age that was a death sentence for people like him but since he was walking a bit more, and didn't use his chair as much, which meant less of sitting up for long hours, improved his quality. There was a possibility that he could live a long life, however small.

He noticed that she was staring at him. He turned, waiting for her to say something else.

"That you're helping Edith." She quickly added.

"I very much doubt she'd want a mans help chasing off this Skinner character."

_"_That might be so but she'll thank you in the end. Everyone deserves a friend in their corner."

* * *

Robert asked Mary about what Finch had wanted. He had come back an hour after his errands. Tally had just brought the children in. George went to Mary, Josephine to Rachel, (who greeted her, Hello, my darling. How was your day?") and Katie who could hardly toddle went over to Edith, demanding to be lifted up. Edith picked her up and placed her on her lap. Mary was briefly amused. _Seems like she's replaced Tom with her as well. I shouldn't be jealous. If it helps them._

"Mallton is holding an early Fat Stock Show this year." Mary said, playing with George with his stuffed fox.

"Is it worth the bother?"

"I think so. Two of the pigs are proven winners, after all. I'm going to head over there later today to have a look at them."

"Can we come?" George asked.

"I don't see why not. I'll tell Nanny."

Edith thought it a great idea, as she would be away and not able to help watch them, though there was no need for her to, she loved to spend time with the children. Just not today.

When Matthew arrived in London with Edith, she offered that he could wait in the sitting room. He listened to her arguing with her editor from the archway. It was becoming quite heated. She shouldn't be wasting her time.

"Edith...why don't we go have lunch and then we can come back?"

"There's no point. I don't need your help."

She had spent some time upstairs, he decided to go up to check on her, taking the lift. She immediately apologised to him. It wasn't him that she was mad at.

He recommend that they could get food ordered in. "It's too late to go back now and we've already missed the train. We can stay here. You can take the bed and I can take the sofa." He saw her teary eyed expression, she immediately looked away, trying to conceal it. "if it's too much for you, I can take the bed." He added.

"I have a better idea. Why don't we stay and have dinner at Aunt Rosamund's? It will much easier than staying here or at a hotel." She tried to make it sound like she meant that it would be easier on him with the wheelchair, which was true. Who knew what obstacles they could encounter. That and they would be away from prying eyes, the last thing they needed, when they both looked a mess. Not to mention it would be more appropriate. _What would Mary think, if we stayed a night together alone? She would know it meant nothing but I'll never hear the end of it if he got an infection or got hurt somehow from some dingy hotel. What would Bertie think? _They were just friends, just as much as she and Matthew were but she had a close bond with Matthew. She hardly knew Bertie. She mustn't think of him now, what she could possibly be feeling for him, when, to her, Michael was barley cold in his grave. _I just want to be further away from this place at the moment._

She was glad that the cab was big enough to accommodate his wheelchair or they would have had to stay at Michael's flat. She wouldn't be alone (she had summoned enough courage just to look at his things) but she couldn't stay there, not yet.

Once they got to Rosamund's modest town house he called Mary saying they got held up in London and would have to stay the night at her Aunt's. The surprise would have to wait till he got back.

"I don't see why any form of compromise is beyond him." Edith spoke to her Aunt.

"You wanted a strong editor." She chuckled. Her servant entered with a letter for her. She took the letter and Edith and Matthew took the two glasses of sherry. "Thank you, William." Rosamund replied.

Edith glanced at Matthew, who was looking over his glass at her Aunt as the boy retreated. _He must be alright with it now. William is a common name._ She thought. And she didn't see any sign of distress.

"Mary's coming tomorrow. She has an appointment in Harley Street and wants to shop for some new clothes."

Matthew listened closely to the clues._ Harley Street. New clothes._ Maybe his suspicion was right.

"I ought to do some shopping while I'm here. I haven't had anything new in ages." Edith said, excitedly.

Rosamund excused herself to the powder room for a moment.

"Why not go shopping together?" Matthew asked Edith. Women liked to shop. It could be a thing that they have in common to bond over and the best way to patch things up between the two of them.

"With Mary? Not likely." She set down her glass.

He set down his. "What have you decided to do about your flat?"

"I think I'm going to keep it empty and see if I get any use of it."

"You aren't ready to move in." From how she had sounded earlier, he wondered if it was because there would be too many ghosts for her. He had just seen one. Metaphorically. He had thought, for a moment, if he didn't look at the boy, he could still imagine...he mentally shook his head, pressing the scar on the palm of his hand. He couldn't help but think that at times when he heard his name. It was as common as Robert, Thomas, or Michael.

"I should be." She should be getting over him. "I suppose the truth is I've never lived alone and I'm not convinced I'll be much good at it." She found it far more frightening than letting go of Michael. He might not know what it was like to loose the love of your life but he understood loss.

"Beware of being too good at it. It can be very hard, being alone."

"But you're not al...oh." She set her eyes on the floor. It must have been very lonely when he'd been out there fighting the war, and with all his friends dead, and with Tom being gone. She supposed she was the only friend around that he had left. She was determined to be a good friend to him. She wanted to tell him that but didn't quite know how to word it, finding she had nothing else left she could say.

"I used to be. At times I still do. I was used to it growing up, when I was away at school."

"Cambridge?" Maybe she would go to college if nothing else opened up for her.

He shook his head. "Boarding School. Nothing too fancy I'm afraid."

She nodded back in understanding. Mary had once threatened her when they were children that she would be sent away to one, saying that that's where parents sent the children that they didn't want. Of course she knew that wasn't the case now. Before she could ask any questions about it, Rosamund came back in, announcing dinner.

* * *

The next evening as Mary got ready for dinner, she decided to hold off on the surprise till afterwards. He was growing so impatient, he wished she would just tell him, though he did already expect what it was. He told her about London.

"I can't think why she doesn't just sack the wretched man and find someone else. Unless she enjoys racing up to London and stealing you away from me." She emphases indicated that she was teasing.

"No one could steal me away." He pulled her over to the chair and kissed her hand. "I just wish you two would find some common ground."

"We already have. Tom used to be the go between Edith and I. I replaced him as agent, I don't need you to replace him, in that way." She went over to the vanity and grabbed an envelope, "Speaking of which, I've had a rather sad letter from him." She opened it up and began to read, "I dreamt last night that I was at the park at Downton, walking with Sybie under the great trees, listening to the pigeons cooing in their branches and when I woke my eyes were filled with tears. I don't understand why." She stopped reading. "I owe him a letter."

"I'll write to him as well. What was the surprise you wanted to tell me?"

"You kept me waiting. I won't tell you till after dinner. "

Anna came in to help her finish up. Mary shooed him from the room. "Down you go, Mr. Crawley. I don't want to give you any ideas." _And worked up too early._

"Maybe I prefer you wear nothing at all." He gave her a peck on the cheek and headed downstairs.

"Have you headed Doctor Ryder's advice?" She asked Anna. She had been having difficulty getting pregnant and had asked Mary about it months before. She knew how she and Matthew had struggled. Mary assumed that it could be stress and anxiousness of trying. But they couldn't be certain. She recommended that she go to the Doctor's in Harley Street. Anna started to protest that she couldn't afford it and couldn't demand that of her. Mary told her it wouldn't be a problem and she would take her as she had an appointment herself. Turned out Anna had just needed a simple surgery. Mary had gone to London earlier in the day for a follow up appointment.

"I have."

"That means...Lord knows it wasn't Bates!"

Anna chuckled, "Honestly, mi 'lady. If I repeated some of the things you say downstairs.."

"How far are you?"

"Two months. And I don't want Mr. Bates to know anything at least until I'm almost showing."

"At the end of the third month I'll made another appointment and we'll whizz up to London."

"I don't want to be too excited. Not until I know it's going to happen." Mary's smile tuned into a frown. She sounded like Matthew just now, the first few times they had tried, even when she announced she was a few months pregnant with George. All she could do was simply nod.

* * *

"Are you pregnant?" It was the first thing Matthew asked Mary after dinner. They had gone straight to their room. After he insisted on seeing the children.

"No. Not pregnant." She saw the beginnings of a frown on his face. "I know you're disappointed, but you asked me what I was in London for today and well, this is related to that." She got his full attention now. "I went to the doctor's to see if everything works lady wise. And it does. All we need to do is keep at it."

"Avoid the stress. Do my manly duties." He said seductively.

"Do to me as you wish. I got just the thing for that." She had bought some lingerie to try on for him, to see if it would help him. Doctor Jacobson said he needed stimulation as it was hard for him. And it worked! When she was finished she was completely soaked, she thought it was her. She put her hand between her legs to wipe some of away. When she looked down she realised it was from him. "I haven't seen that much come from you."

"Now we know what works." He laughed breathlessly and kissed her, happily, full on the mouth. What she had picked out at the fashion show hadn't worked. He was glad that they had found something that did. "I'll let you go clean up." He started to slide out from underneath her but she caught his arm.

"No."

He looked up at her, startled. Looking into those deep lusty pools, he relaxed, almost getting lost in them.

"If you can't feel me." He would never feel himself inside her or feel pleasure of that nature but he could still feel her pleasure. She wanted him to feel something else. "I want you to taste me, taste us." _I want you to know what you taste like. _She put her fingers to his lips, rubbing them. He moaned. It almost got him going again, although everything was quiet down there on the southern front. At least, he took a guess. He couldn't feel down below, not even there. He was way past feeling embarrassed and disgusted with himself for that aspect. They had found alternative ways to be psychical with each other. And they have been worth while discovering. Like just now.

She leaned over him and kissed him on the lips. When she drew her head back, he took in her face, marveling at her. _What did I do to disserve a gracious woman like this? To share my love with and among other things._

"There will be more where that came from, I hope." She looked at him quizzically and intrigued. "That...we...have more time together like this. We'll need more..." But he was speechless. She had to kiss him again.

"Whatever you wish Mr. Crawley."

* * *

It was the summer of 1925 and the wedding of Rose McClare to Atticus Aldridge, was a success, thanks to Mary's careful months of planning. The food and dancing was exquisite. The guests were beautifully dressed and everyone agreed that they had seen no bride as lovely as this one, since Mary's own wedding. It was getting late in the evening. She danced with Atticus while Rose changed out of her dress, in to her honeymoon suit, and they would soon be off to his cousin's, then from there New York.

The announcement of Tony Gillingham and Mabel's marriage was announced in the papers. That was the last they would see of him.

The next wedding the following month Mary was happy she didn't have to plan, so she could spend time with Matthew and the children. Upstairs and down were invited to Daniels' and Tally's' wedding. As for Miss Hughes' and Carson's' they had decided on September. Carson had asked her to do nothing else other than stand up for him but she insisted. Robert asked Carson about the plans that he had.

"We already set a date, for September. As for a place for the reception..."

"You can have it here." Mary chimed.

"Robert agreed with her. "Absolutely. We can decorate the servant's hall and make it look really special."

"That's kind mi'lord."

"Honestly, Papa. We'll decorate the servant's Hall?" Mary whispered in disapproval as Carson exited the room. After all the years that Carson had stood in her corner, he was like a second father to her. He deserved better. "Surely we can do a little better than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to discuss it all in a rush. We'll have a proper conversation later." She took the folded napkin off her lap, daintily placing it back on the table, before she got up, leaving the room.

_What just happened? First Finch, now this? I think I've created a monster._ Robert thought of his oldest daughter but he was so very proud. He was proud of both his daughters, wishing Sybil was here to see it all change.

Edith had announced that she had finally fired her editor and took it on with the help of her friend Bertie Pelham. Robert tried to look pleased. Things were changing too fast. Robert wondered if this friendship would become more. He didn't have to hope for long. Edith was already starting to fall in love with Bertie.

Soon she would invite him over to dinners. Matthew was the first to strike up conversation with him.

"I knew a Bertie once. Are you an Albert?"

"Herbert. It was my fathers name and my grandfathers."

"I heard of you coming to Edith's' rescue after she fired her editor at the paper."

"It was nothing, really." Bertie was being far too modest. "It was Edith who did all the work."

A few days before Carson's and Miss Hughes's wedding, Edith introduced Bertie to her nieces and nephews, believing it was the next step to whatever it was they were becoming.

"George, Josephine and Katie are Matthew and Marys' children. Sybie is my late sister Sybil's' and Tom's daughter." Momentarily she observed their sleeping. She turned to Bertie, blurting out in a loud rush, that somehow didn't wake the children, "would you like to attend my butler's and housekeeper's wedding? I know it's last minute but..."

Before he could answer, they were interrupted. The door opened and Matthew came into the room. He was using his chair. He had become quite the novice at opening and closing doors while using it. He often came to the nursery in his chair so that he'd be able to hold the children.

"Hope I'm not interrupting." He said. "I wanted to check on them."

"No. Not at all. They are your children, Matthew." Edith knew part of his true intentions, he wanted to get to know Bertie.

"Right." He awkwardly wheeled over to one of the cots.

"I wouldn't mind the company." Bertie said. He sounded eager, grateful for the presence of another adult in the room. He did like children and wanted some of his own someday, but he had never been around them much. Unless that was what Edith was hinting at, that'd she would like to have a family of her own one day, with him.

"I should head back downstairs." Edith said. "Granny and the others will the wondering where I am."

"Your wife and I had the most interesting conversation. She's quite something, isn't she?"

"She can be. Depends on what the 'something' is."

"Please don't take that as an insult. On the contrary, I meant the highest compliment." He rocked on the balls of his feet. _Most likely a nervous habit,_ Matthew observed, everyone had one. "So, how long have you been married?"

"Five years now." He wondered why Bertie would ask. Surely he didn't have the intent to marry Edith. They had only known each other a short while.

"You certainly filled the nursery up fast." Bertie almost went red. Why did he say that?

"Trust me. It wasn't easy."

Bertie had been wondering about that, how it could possibly work, with him being in a wheelchair (he wasn't all the time as Edith had explained to him) but could not ask. It was taboo to talk about such things and wasn't considered etiquette asking the disabled questions. By society's etiquette, he shouldn't even be talking to Matthew. Bertie didn't comply to some of their rules. The war had made him see that, that you didn't need to conform to society's standards if they didn't fit your morals. _What matters is what's in a person's heart. _

Matthew tried to think of what to say next. He couldn't approach him like he had Gregson. Besides, he didn't look like a fishing man. Hunting man perhaps. But that was out of the question. What would be the best way to approach him?

_Every person has a different personality and so, you must talk what comes to you naturally. Coaching lessons do not help and might embarrass you. I could find what his interests are, lay the ground work before I find out what his intentions are. God, I sound like an overbearing father. Would it be the same when it came to my own children someday, especially my daughters? __What could we talk about? Sports? I don't have a tremendous knowledge of sports, besides cricket and badminton, none of which I can __play_ anymore.

"I want to make clear that I want to know what your intentions are with Edith."

"Oh." Bertie was taken by surprise even though he had been half expecting it. "We're friends at the moment. But I think we could be more."

"I want you to know that she's been heartbroken before."

"Yes. She told me all about it. Being left at the alter. I couldn't imagine." That was five years ago, surely now she would want to pursue something. No wonder she had been hesitant at the start.

"Yes." Matthew eyed him curiously. Had she told him about Gregson? She had to have. You didn't come to inherit out of thin air. Well, him being the heir to Downton was an exception. "Have you ever been in any other relationships?"

"No, quite frankly. I haven't been as lucky in that department." The war had prevented him and quite frankly he never understood them. He had spent a year in the army after the war to figure things out. And then there had been the death of his father. "I had to step in to help my cousin with the estate. I had no time to pursue anything until rather recently. That is, if she wants to." Why else would she invite him to a wedding if she wasn't interested?

No man wanted to admit to being unfortunate with women but Bertie saw fit that he should be straight forward and honest.

He had gone and made the man embarrassed. Matthew scolded himself. He didn't want to scare him off. This was an opportunity for his friend to have real shot at happiness after losing her first love. This might have the potential to grow into something more. The best relationships grew out of friendship. He hadn't seen that with Gregson. Bertie was nothing like Gregson and seemed an outstanding and honest man as first impressions go. He hoped his instincts about Bertie were right. He wanted the man to feel welcome, to change the mood, so that he'd feel comfortable.

But the mood was already embarrassing and awkward.

It didn't quite help when Mary walked in. "Ah, looks like I'm here just in time to rescue you." It wasn't clear as to whom she was saying it to. It could have been both of them.

"Is he always this interrogative?" Bertie asked, humorously.

"Just when it comes to Edith's lovers. He did interrogate the last one."

Bertie smiled but then it fell away, confused about what she meant. Matthew, without Bertie seeing, gave Mary a warning glance.

_21st September 1925_

For George's fourth birthday, Mary wanted to start him on riding lessons. Just like his mother, he was a natural. He grew to share her love of horses in a short amount of time. Jo wanted to join them but she was too young yet. Mary promised her next year when she was the same age George was now.

As she went out with George, Matthew told them to be careful as the ground was still a bit icy and wet.

"I'll give him the most tamed pony."

"Do be careful, miss." Mr. Faircliff warned. "It looks it might become treacherous. There might be a storm brewing."

"We won't go far. Thank you, Faircliff."

She held on to the reins as well as George's, as they rode side by side. She showed him all the places she loved as a child, the secret places she had hid from the nanny with her sisters.

"I probably shouldn't have told you that. Don't get any ideas." The two of them exchanged smiles, a secret language between them. They knew he wouldn't. He was the perfect prince and gentlemen. His eyes crinkled round the corners, just like his father's.

They went back to the house before the weather started getting bad. She took George down to the kitchen, along with Josephine, where Miss Patmore was making his birthday cake. He asked if he could lick the bowl.

It had started to downpour as soon as they had made it up to the house, but the actual storm didn't officially make t's way over the Yorkshire village till late in the evening. The thunder often used to bring on Matthew's nightmares. The distant rumblings must sound like exploding shells and gunfire. The first few years they were married, it had been the worst, he would call out, shouting and crying, calling out names she did not recognise, some she did (when it had been really bad and she could not wake him, all she could do was wait) up until a year ago they had lessened. He would occasionally moan or whimper, or slightly jolt. But this night, she watched him sleep, calmly, his body relaxed. She put her arm round him and placed her head on his chest. He did not stir. Blissfully undisturbed. _This means they can go away for good. My Matthew Crawley, you are not entirely lost or gone, you are found. I have found you._

* * *

Bertie had gotten the news that his cousin Peter had died. The family was in a rather jovial mood before hearing about it themselves, but not about who Peter actually was. She asked them not to joke when he came. Mary felt bad for whoever was the new Marquess.

"He is the Marquess of Hexam. Bertie."

"Congratulations!" Matthew could hardly contain himself. "If Edith marries Bertie, she'll outrank us all!"

"Yes. Congratulations." Mary smiled but was internally gritting her teeth.

"Bertie did ask me to marry him!"

Mary felt as if she'd been stung. But she wouldn't lash out. Matthew had made her a better person but she couldn't help her feelings on the matter, it didn't mean she had to approve of it or like it. She would never forgive Edith for sending that letter. But it was time to grow up. She had more concerns with her own life, her husband and children and the estate to focus on and keep her busy.

The rest of the family continued congratulating them. Matthew and Robert were talking with Bertie. After a short while Matthew came back over to Mary.

"Giving up on the interrogation already?" She asked.

"If he's good for Edith, that's all that matters"

When they were the only one's left in the room, Matthew asked her, "Why can't you let your sister by happy?"

"She almost ruined my life."

"But she didn't, did she? I told you what revenge does to a person, not forgiving someone does the same. Just let your sister be happy. Make peace with her, then you can start making peace with yourself."

Mary nodded, knowing he was speaking from experience. And so that was what she did.

_December 1925_

The Christmas season was more fun than usual. It was also Tom's homecoming. He had arrived a few days before Christmas Eve, almost a year to the day he said he would return. They got caught up on old times.

"Well I thought we all had been expecting that, Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes. And Edith to be a Marchioness, who would have thought! Our Edith's done well for herself!" Tom exclaimed.

"Are you just visiting us or have you decided to stay?" Mary asked. She was still a little hurt from him leaving in the first place.

"Looks like I'll be staying. Sybie deserves a Christmas at Downton and hopefully many to come." He then went to join Matthew for some drinks.

"It's really quite simple really." Tom was telling Matthew. "I had to go all the way to Boston and figure something out and that's what I did."

"Well go on, what was it?" Mary pressed.

It was a question that Matthew couldn't bring to ask. He wished it would have been that simple for him. To just go away somewhere, and find himself, where he fit in.

"I learned that Downton is my home and that you are my family."

But he had found his way, a way to live, in the form of his wife and children. Tom gazed happily at the family, especially the children.

George, who was being held by his grandfather demanded to be put down, "Put me down, Donk!" and once he was released, ran over to his cousin to give her a hug, "Sybie!"

Josephine followed suit. Katie seemed a little reluctant. She had been too little to have remembered Sybie or Tom. She looked back at the adults, as if to say, who are these strangers?

"Go on and say hello." Her mother urged her.

"Hello." Katie said shyly. Sybie put her arms around her.

The little ones begged to open their presents next. Mary relented, "Alright, just one each. Or Father Christmas won't bring you anymore."

Mary loved seeing the children's faces light up as they opened their gifts. It was hard to believe how much they had grown. George who was four, Josephine had already turned three, and little Katie, nearly two! And she had one on the way.

She seemed quite bigger than normal, than her last two pregnancies and the morning sickness was the worst. Doctor Clarkson told her it was nothing to worry about, and she wasn't carrying twins, ( Matthew had playfully suggested that she might be) for he hadn't heard a second heart beat. Anna was also pregnant and looked about to give birth at any moment. At least one of their children would be close in age. She had told Anna. She supposed it was that way with best friends or siblings sometimes. They would be three or four months apart! _"I hope they could be friends like us. Even if one or the other is the opposite sex." She had pu__t her hand on her stomach, turning sideways to look at herself better in the mirror. She did look larger. All that matters is the baby's health and Matthew will still love me. He couldn't care less what I look like._

On Christmas morning she and Matthew took the children on a sleigh ride. Matthew was as bundled up as the children, of course. Mary had Bates make up hot water bottles to place on the seats.

Together they made snowballs, while Matthew stayed in the sleigh where it was warm (Katie snuggled on his lap), until George and Josephine started pelting each other with them. Then it was time to go back to the house.

"Carson can bring us up some hot cocoa. " She told them when they started to protest. That drew them inside in an instant.

Despite taking precautions Matthew had caught a chill and was in bed until almost New Years. It could have to be watched carefully, it could turn into pneumonia. But it didn't. He was back up in no time, from the bed at least, as he spent time walking around their bedroom to rebuild his strength.

On the thirty-first, the night of Edith's wedding to Bertie, Anna gave birth to a baby boy. She insisted on a name, calling him Johnny, because they couldn't keep calling him baby Bates.

* * *

_March 1926_

"I though I'd take a walk in the garden. I might sit on the bench for a while." She announced to Matthew before going out.

"Do you want to bring a book?" He asked.

"Yes, please. Tell Anna to bring me some lemonade and bring me some pickled radishes, if you can find any."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I don't want to send her on a lot of silly requests. She's got her own baby to take care of now."

"I'll be sure to. If I can find them." He gave her a kiss and a pat on the tummy. "Make sure he doesn't come out while I'm gone."

"Don't be so sure it's a boy." She said, not wanting to get his hopes up if it were a mere girl. He wanted another boy, not just to secure the future of the estate if something happened to George but for his playmate. It would be nice to have another boy in the house.

"If it's a girl that size, we have serious problems." He gave a chuckle.

She started to have contractions that afternoon. It was too early. Two months early. It would be premature. She couldn't imagine the complications. She could not and would not have this baby yet. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't lose the baby. Haven't they faced enough tragedy for one lifetime or twice over?

They managed to get her into the car, she being vaguely aware of it, kept muttering, "it's too soon, it's too soon." However she was somehow aware of Matthew's arms around her. Instead of saying everything will be alright, he says, "I've got you darling. What ever happens."

Clarkson assured them that it was just false contractions and that they were having twins.

Matthew's jaw almost went to the floor in disbelief. "Are you sure, Doctor Clarkson?"

"I'm quite sure."

"But, there was only one heart beat." Mary looked back and forth at Matthew and Clarkson, bewildered.

He went on to explain why he hadn't heard the second one. One twin must have been hiding behind the other.

_May 1926_

Mary had grown used to the idea of twins. She had started to refer to them as 'the babies' "What do you think we should name the babies?" or "When the babies come..." And "They're both kicking up a storm." He loved the way she touched her stomach, absolutely glowing, more so than he had thought possible. "When one starts, the other one does. These babies are turning me into a human punching bag." and he never got tired of it, the way she would speak to them.

It was the ninth, the day before Matthew's birthday. He was dreading forty-one but she tried giving him confidence, saying it looked good on him and seductively giving him a kiss.

"And if you're lucky enough, these babies could share your birthday."

He didn't tell her the truth why he was unsettled. He was lucky enough to have lived this long. He would be lucky to live another five years, ten would be stretching it. He felt guilty for strapping her with twins, with so many children. She would have a loving family to support her. But it wasn't the same as a loving husband's. Not the same as a love from a father, which a child needs, that he might not be able to give for long. He must not worry about that now. He had to be there for her, make the best of their time. He made it this far.

Mary was in the dinning room with Anna that evening, just as she was cleaning up. She was drinking a glass of milk, when Anna heard a splash on the floor.

"I'll get it, mi'lady." She rushed to grab the mop.

Mary put out her hand, "No. It wasn't the milk. My waters broke!" She had startled Anna and it made her start to laugh. She must think she's lost it.

Matthew came in, a worried expression on his face, "Is something wrong? I sensed something..."

"Tell Hornsby to pull the car round. I'm having the babies."

"Are you sure?"

As he asked, she closed her eyes, as the contractions began, quickly they became increasingly painful.

She was brought in and admitted to the hospital and taken to the birthing room to get situated. The memory of Sybi's death, that had haunted him all those years ago, resurfaced.

They could loose her or the babies or both, he feared.

He asked the nurse, about her pain level, what they could do to manage it, that she didn't have this much pain or difficulty during the last few births.

"Everything will be fine." The nurse said. "Though it could take all night at this rate."

He grew pale. He couldn't imagine having her going through this that long. He wanted to be in the room with her but he wasn't allowed. Down the hall he heard her wails of agony. He no longer cared if it wasn't proper. He had to be with her.

"Does that sound fine to you? I demand to see her at once!" His face started turning red and he started to breath heavily, "If anything happens to her..."

"Husband's aren't allowed to see the mother during the birth, and you're giving all the reason why it isn't, Mr. Crawley."

He then felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was Anna. She got him to come back and sit back on the bench. She didn't say anything, just listened for his breathing to steady, before she asked, "is there anything that I can do for you, Mr. Matthew?"

"Go back to the house and inform the family." He said to her. She nodded, turning to head down the hall. His voice stopped her before she could take a step, "But...Tell them not to come for a few hours. I'll call them to let them know when to arrive. I want to be with my wife. Before all the commotion starts!" He refused to think the worst.

Soon they would have two yowling healthy babies, boys or girls. Maybe one of each. He was extremely delighted, entertaining the idea.

After four hours of what seemed like an eternity, the doctor came out of the delivery room, almost exactly one minute after midnight. Matthew stood and went over to him. He had regained his control over his temper and emotions but he could hardly contain the positive ones.

"Congratulations Mr. Crawley, you have a beautiful boy!" The doctor said. Matthew was too overjoyed to detect the slight hesitation in his voice.

"That's great news! George is always badgering for a brother to play with, that's my oldest. He and I won't be spending the rest of our lives surrounded by a household of women, though we'd still be fretfully outnumbered. The other is a girl then!"

The doctor wasn't smiling. "Mr. Crawley, might I have a word in the other room." He followed him to a room adjacent to the waiting area. "It was indeed a girl."

"Was." Matthew silently whispered, rubbing his hand over his face. At the doctor's next words, he blinked back the tears starting to well in his eyes. He sunk down into a chair.

"She was stillborn." Matthew was barely listening now. He said something about she must had died not long ago in the womb, wasn't given enough nutrition to survive. "We don't know why these things happen."

"Can I see her?"

"In a few moments. The nurse is preparing your son for her to see him."

"My daughter." Matthew corrected the doctor.

"I don't think that would be wise. It could be distressing."

"It will help."

It didn't. She was in a basin, in a sink, covered with a sheet. He thought perhaps holding her would help. It didn't.

She was so tiny that she could fit in his hands, so tiny he didn't need his chair to hold her, leaning sideways against the counter to support himself. Her little face was already blue and had a waxy appearance, except for her tiny feet that dangled out, that were still pink. It was more disturbing than anything he had seen on the battlefield.

He wanted to cry, to yell, anything. Yell at the doctor for discarding their daughter like a piece of trash. But he couldn't. He had to be there for Mary as she had for him. They couldn't both fall apart.

He wanted to blame someone, anyone. But it wasn't anyone's nor the doctor's fault. At least they had the decency to wrap her in a blanket. He placed her back in the basin but couldn't bring himself to place the sheet back over her.

"Send her over to Graspie's" He said as the doctor covered her for him. "I don't want my wife to see her like this."

"Of course. I'll give you a moment." The doctor stopped at the door for a moment before turning back, "You can take her to the chapel if you like, while we make the preparations." He said. "I'll have someone come get you when your son is ready to bond with mother."

He took her to the chapel and talked to her, just talked without looking at her still, quiet face, rocking her a bit as if she were alive. When the nurse came he almost didn't want her to take his precious daughter away. He could feel the emptiness after she was lifted out of his arms but he still felt like she was there.

"You can be with your wife now, Mr. Crawley. It's best you be there with her, for the news."

He gave a small nod. For a few seconds he remained seated, gripping his hat with all the strength as if it could absorb it. He needed all the strength he's ever had.

* * *

They had brought Andrew in for her to hold and bond with him. Then Mary asked about the other baby. The nurse took him from her arms and set him in the bassinet. She hadn't believed when the doctor said that their daughter did not survive.

"No, it isn't true. Give me my baby."

"She's being sent over to Graspsie's." She was being transferred as they spoke. Mr. Crawley had made the right call. He didn't recommend that mother's view their dead babies. The news of it was already difficult to bear.

"No. You've made a mistake. I felt her. I felt two."

"Mrs. Crawley, often times..." The doctor began but he was interrupted as Mary went into deeper hysterics. Was that how he had sounded, Matthew wondered, when he had been going through his episodes, the nightmares? She had been there for him through it all. It was his time to be there through it with her. He couldn't fall apart and he wouldn't. She had given that to him. But he couldn't have told her this. He let them explain it all while he held her hand, the gesture letting her know that he was here and they could, will get through this.

"Where's my baby? I want my baby." She couldn't, wouldn't believe it. They had to be lying. It had to be some mistake. A mix up. Why wasn't Matthew saying anything?

"She didn't live. She was too small to." The nurse informed, gently.

"No, you're lying. I want my baby. Where's my baby? Matthew, tell them." He'd set them straight. But as she turned her head to look at him, she saw the truth in his eyes. She didn't want to hear the words, not from him. Shaking her head she gave a small, "No."

He had to tell her now, even though it broke his heart to see her world being torn apart. He'd pick up the pieces this time. For better or for worse. That is what they had promised. "It's true, darling." Matthew comforted his wife. He sat beside her. He wiped away her tears, but they kept coming. He smoothed her hair before placing his hand there. "I'd give anything to wish it was not. But it is. But." He said as he took her hand, "we have a healthy boy, a beautiful boy, to love and take care of, and our other children." He held her tightly against him as she clung to him. The family was called and informed when they arrived. Matthew couldn't tell them, not only did he think he'd fall apart, Mary needed him and Mary didn't want him to leave her. Robert wanted to be with his daughter but she only wanted to be with her husband.

Matthew had to be the one to tell the children. Katie was only two, too young to understand. George and Josephine were almost five and four. They were more quizzical and aware about the world around them. They were confused when only one baby was brought home and not two. They wondered where the second baby in their mummy's tummy went.

"He looks all squashed and wrinkly." Josephine said as she peered down at him, wrinkling her own nose. Matthew had to smile as she greeted her new baby brother, George joining in, while Katie was temporarily interested. George started to look around. Matthew's stomach sank, his heart began to race. He knows who he's looking for.

"Where's the other one?" He asked. Then he looked at the doors, expecting someone to bring the other baby in.

"I thought there would be two." Josephine suddenly remembered.

"There was. You had a baby sister."

"Where is she?" Katie asked. "Will the nurse bring her?"

"Are they bringing her soon?" George looked round his father at the double doors again

"No." His voice was almost a whisper. He could feel his eyes start to fill with moister but he kept the tears at bay. "No." He repeated, strong this time.

George frowned.

"Why not?" Asked Josephine. "Where did she go?" She was growing a bit frustrated and worried. Papa was sometimes weepy after he had a nightmare. She could see it in his eyes even though the others could not.

"The baby wasn't strong enough..."

"Is the nurse with her now?" Katie asked again.

Matthew shook his head, her little voice almost breaking him apart. His heart ached for them for they were blissfully unaware. Katie was growing listlessly bored, he could tell. She always swung her arms and body back and forth when she was, putting her arms in her sleeves. The action to him felt cold, cruel, uncaring. _She's only two years old.__ She can't comprehend the situation and you want to direct your anger at someone._

Yes, he was angry. That was one of the stages of grief, wasn't it? It was nice to know that he was, even though it didn't feel like it.

"Can I go now?" She asked. Tally came into the foyer. Spotting her, Katie ran over to her. "Briny!" She tugged on her arm. "Briny come with me to play upstairs!" She loved Tally to play dolls with her. "Jo's a meanie to my dollies."

"Am not!"

"It is alright if I take her, Mr. Matthew?" Tally asked, the little girl taking her hand.

He nodded. "Yes, go ahead Tally. Thank you."

As they departed for the nursery, Matthew tried to think of a way to explain to his older children. They knew about heaven but could not quite grasp the terms of death, that it was final. He'd put it in the best way he could.

"The baby wasn't strong enough to live outside of mummy's tummy. So, she went up to heaven."

"To be with the angels?" This was from George.

"Too right. Now, I want you to listen, because this is very important. This is very hard...on all off us right now and I want you to be extra nice and patient with your dear Mama."

"We can do that!" George said in his big boy voice.

"Good. Now go up and play. And don't disturb your mother. She needs her rest."

Mary's demeanor changed when she was brought home, uninterested in the baby. They hired a wet nurse, who desperately tried to encourage her to spend time with him. It was his father who fed, from the bottles that the wet nurse had made up and nappied him, which the nurse greatly discouraged. It could hinder mother-baby time.

"He needs his father too. A bond with his father is just as important." He told her and continued to tend to his son as she exited the room. "you know I wear one of these but one day you'll grow out of them. It's a lot more easier to change you." He no longer was embarrassed about his occasional incontinence and could make light of it. "I'll bring him up to his mother in a bit. Maybe that will help." He suggested. And that's what he did. He had brought him up to his mother. She took him in his arms, for the first time not refusing him, smiling down at him, briefly. _She'll take to him now. _Matthew was sure.

"I should have both of them." She says, softly. Then her tone and expression turns to anger as she looks up at Matthew. "This is your fault. You did this. You wanted a boy." Robert had heard the commotion and stopped in the doorway of the room. Mary directed her attention toward him. "Both of you wanted this!"

"She doesn't know what she says, Mr. Crawley. Lord Grantham. She's in pain right now." The nurse said. She went to take the baby from her arms, but Mary moved out of her reach. _They won't take him away too. _"No. I want him. Leave him. Tell them to go."

"Lady Mary needs to be left alone for the moment." They were shuffled from the room.

"Well, it is a start." Robert said.

Matthew began to think, what if it was his fault? Maybe he was being punished for his actions in the war. But he shook it away. He wouldn't let his mind control his thoughts, not when his wife and children needed him most.

The funeral took place a few days later. Matthew sat next to his mother, sharing an umbrella. The drizzling cold of the weather crept in to his bones. He wasn't sure if it was just the weather or his old injury. Isobel could barley keep her focus off her son. She didn't want to see the tiny coffin being lowered into the ground. He was staring straight ahead, not watching it either. He appeared unfazed. But everyone knew he was keeping it together for the children, while Mary looked gaunt and pale, standing alone. One would expect a mother to stand with her husband and children, who were in the back row, with Nanny O'Brien, formally Stevens and Nanny Wallace. Mary simply didn't care, sensing eyes on her. _Let them think I'm the ice queen that I am._

"If you need help with anything, if she needs any one to talk to..."

"Please, not here, mother." He begged, a sternness, etched with a kind of pain that Isobel knew all too well. "We don't need any help." After a second he asked, could you get the chauffer to take me back to the house? If I get sick it won't do the children any good."

After the funeral, there was to be no reception, only immediate family. Matthew came downstairs after seeing Mary to bed. Tally and nanny Wallace were outside with the children, the weather now sunny and clear, mirroring the opposite of what everyone else was feeling.

Bertie seeing his brother in-law sitting alone in his chair, came over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through or how you feel, but...I want you to know that I'm here for you, we all are. How would you like to get out and grab a drink sometime. If you're up to it."

"No thanks, Bertie."

"If there's anything I can do..."

He just stared off, saying nothing else. Bertie couldn't really blame him. It really was a taxing time. _So many dead_. _You never got used to it. You'd think all this death would stop after the war. Eight years since it ended_. He couldn't imagine the horror of it, what Matthew could be seeing behind his eyes, even though he had witnessed the same.

The man had comforted his wife, not moments ago. Not him, her own husband. They were close friends. He had no reason to be jealous. A part of Bertie was glad that he hadn't had to, displaying such emotion in public , he was not accustomed to. Having lived with his mother's verbal abuse and his father had been a quiet man, never standing up for him or for himself. But this was not about him. He wanted to be closer to his wife's friend, so that he could feel closer to her, he had lost a niece too, and he genuinely wanted to help his brother-in-law. It also was a deep resonating hurt Bertie felt, (bringing back the memories of his cousin though it was nowhere near the extent of his and Mary's and the rest of the family) to see him in such pain. With so much he had suffered in the war.

A second passed and he snapped back to it, from wherever he had gone, and wheeled away. Edith was making her way over to Bertie.

"I wish I knew how to talk to him." Bertie told his wife. "That there was a way to get through to him."

"I'll...see what can do."

Her Aunt said she thought she saw him go off in the direction of the library.

He was sitting alone.

"We're heading out. I thought I'd say goodbye to everyone..."

Suddenly he broke down. She pulled him into her arms and he cried against her for several minutes.

"I hadn't been able to do that before, worrying that once I started crying I would never be able to stop." She let him talk, because of course she couldn't say anything, and held him until he was ready to let go.

Just hours before he had put his arms around her, trying to comfort her, (his sister in-law and not his own wife! They were comforting each other. _Mary should be the one. She doesn't deserve him. _She couldn't help but think at the time but then stopped herself. _Grief affects people in strange ways.)_ he had been sitting between her and his mother. Edith had been sitting behind them between her Aunt and Bertie but had moved to sit next to Matthew for a moment. Travis had started speaking before she could go back to her seat and thought it rude to do so then, so she had stayed put. Matthew had stared straight ahead, not looking at the tiny casket while it was being lowered. He hadn't even looked at it as it had been taken out of the hearse. He had faced the other direction and asked Aunt Rosamund seated behind them, who Edith had been talking to, to tell him when the casket was out.

He withdrew from her embrace and thanked her after and said "I needed that."

She put her hand on his shoulder and turned to leave. With a slight hesitation, she looks back. "He means well. Bertie. He wants to help. You'll find that you're both more a like than you think."

Several hours later Matthew came back to the library, after checking on Mary. He asked Robert to have a word, telling him that Mary was resting.

"That's good. She needs it." He half turned to his son in-law, thinking. "You know you can come to me for just about anything. If you need to talk to someone Isobel and I know what you're going through."

"I didn't come for a comparison. I wanted to discuss how the buildings were coming along."

"Yes, of course."

Matthew mentioned the ideas that he and Mary had, one of the lands had a small creek, they planned on taking the children to; he couldn't finish his thought. Robert closely examined him, and came to the conclusion that he needed rest too. He looked on the verge of collapse, even though he was sitting.

"Go on up to bed. You look overwrought."

"I'm fine." He did kind of feel like it. Come to think of it, he didn't know what he felt other than numb, like the lower half of his body that occasionally still feel like he was floating. "I need to keep busy, Robert." Or he'd drive himself crazy with grief. He prayed that Mary's wouldn't. No. She would pull through. She was his storm braver.

"Go to bed." It was an order, not a suggestion. He could go at it with Robert for treating him like a misbehaved child, sending him up to his room, but he simply didn't have the energy. "Overwork can make you sick, trust me, I know. Be with your wife."

* * *

He saw that Mary was still awake, Andy was in the bassinet beside the bed.

"Let's go to bed, darling." He said. It was best that she got some rest while the baby was sleeping.

"I didn't mean what I said to you and Papa." She didn't know why she had.

"I know what it's like. You start having thoughts you don't want to think."

She nods. "I'm sorry I've been away. It's not fair to you that you've had to take on everything. I'm just not ready to..."_ To face the world or anything yet._

"Shh...it's alright. You've waited for me. Now it's my turn." He kissed her forehead and turned over on his side, away from her. They lay in silence. Mary stared up at the ceiling. Sleep would not come to right away. Her thoughts started to wonder. She had not once seen him cry or break down. Stressful situations could bring back his shell shock. But there had been nothing, that she had been aware of at least. He wasn't hiding it from her. It's been four years since his last episode, before George's birth. He hadn't had any nightmares either, but the last two nights she had driven him from their bed. He had taken the reins of their family, an efficient rock like figure, resuming his fatherly duties as if nothing had happened. She wanted to let him know that he didn't have to hide it. He should be letting his grief out. _He fears if he does, he will fall apart too._

"It's ok not to be ok."

He turned back to her. "I have to. For the children. For you."

"We just lost a baby, Matthew." His face almost crumpled but he quickly disguised it with a grimace. "I know you're strong..."

"Mary." He reached out to touch her again. "My storm braver, more than I ever was."

"No, you are..."

"You were always the strong one." He kissed her again and she let him hold her. "How do you feel, my darling?"

"Safe."

But he could feel her pulling away again as she sunk back into her depression. He would keep his promise and wait for her.

* * *

Four months went by with no change in Mary. His mother came to see him. He could not protest it as her presence was somewhat welcoming.

He was clearly psychically and mentally exhausted, trying to reach his wife (even Isobel hadn't much luck to get through to her) and taking care of the children and all the while managing the estate. She had a word with Robert about it. Robert had already suggested that he take it easy, giving him no more than what he could apparently handle.

"The lack of what I'm giving him is the problem." Robert had said. "He accuses me of giving him barely little to work with, so that I can gain control over his part of the estate."

"But isn't that what you're doing?"

"No. Of course not! I think he needs to rest. He thinks no one else sees it when no one else is looking."

"I'll have a talk with him." But would neglect to tell Robert what about. She was up in his dressing with him now, discussing her concerns.

"I think it right that you stepped up to help take care of the children but you also need to take care of your health."

He wanted to protest against her, that she didn't need to worry that he'd 'fall apart' because he was 'too fragile" but he had no energy. He had wasted it, going at it with Robert.

"Let the nannies take care of them for a few days, spend them with your wife or take some time for yourself." When he said nothing she continued, "You look a little peaky, why not come over and I can make you a hot meal or two. It's been a while since I've had you for tea."

"I think I will." He sounded delighted at the idea.

That afternoon he telephoned Brancaster Castle. Bertie's mother Miranda answered the phone. When he asked to speak with Bertie, she asked who was calling. When he responded with his name, it was clear she was one of those who thought people like him shouldn't be seen nor heard. He could hear muffled arguing before Bertie came on the other end.

"Hello. Bertie, it's Matthew. I hope this isn't a bad time?"

There was a pause as Bertie put his hand over the receiver and gave his mother a glance that said, clear off. Leaned against a pillar, she shook her head, then left, Bertie turning his back to her.

"No. Not at all. Please forgive my mother. She is frivolous." What was it her business whom he socialised with? She had only met him once at the wedding. His mother's first impression solidified her view of that person. There was no budging her. She had mostly talked to Mary. He heard his mother ask, more to herself, as Mary left to dance with her husband, (a bit bemused of the thought) what she got out of it. Bertie could have told her off but he didn't want her to spoil his and Edith's special day, causing a scene as she always did.

"Actually it is I that should be asking you forgiveness. I'm sorry for how I reacted, that day."

"You don't have anything to apologise for."

"I hope the offer still stand?" It sounded more like a question.

"Of course."

"I hope you don't mind that I invited Tom to join us."

"The more the merrier."

Bertie and Matthew had much more in common than they would have thought. They had come back to the house and joined Robert and Tom in the dinning room. The conversation had somehow come their fathers.

"I lost my father when I was twenty-five. Eight years ago now."

"I was around that age when I lost mine. I was twenty-one. "

Mary had come down, only once in a long while, listening to them talk.

"What else is there that you like to do, Bertie? As you would have guessed I'm not much of a pub man."

"Neither am I to be honest. I only asked well, because I thought it a good way to break the ice so to speak."

"I'll tell you what I told Tom when he married into this family. We have to stick together to take on the Crawley girls."

"I like that."

Matthew gave a cheeky smile and whirled his glass. _I thought you would. _

"When I'm not hunting or managing the books, I do like to fish."

"Do you really? We should go sometime."

"I'm doing much more of that now, since Peter..."

"I think I'll be able to help you with that."

"If it's not to much..."

Tom came up to Mary, "Look who's got another friend."

"Yes. Not feeling replaced are you?"

"I don't mind it. He needs a distraction. It'll be good for him."

Plans did seem to fall apart though, as Matthew continued with the children's daily routines, he had no time to schedule outings, especially with the weather starting to get cold. Bertie said he understood even though he didn't. He didn't know what it was like to be a parent but he hoped that would change soon.

Matthew expressed to the both nannies and George's teacher to do the same. And if they had questions they should ask their parents. He wanted his children to maintain normalcy and routine to help them cope. _Young children do best when they have a sense of normalcy and a predictable routine. _He himself had come a long way because of it.

But they seemed to get on like nothing happened. Children were resilient.

When did he become an expert when it came to children?

He was a natural father. He saw to their needs and their questions. He was the one to explain to them because Mary could not.

"You might not understand, but Mama is going to be sad for a while. If she seem like she's crying too much, it's because she's thinking about the baby."

Their mother spend two hours with them each day at tea time like her mother had done with her.

Their Papa spend more time with them. They were hardly alone with the nanny, except when they went out to play or were put to bed._ 'Papa can't move around too much' _or_ 'sometimes his legs don't work__'_ was all that was explained to them.

"Andy is there." Katie pointed and looked at her baby brother in his cot. He was a lot more mobile now, moving his arms and legs, pulling himself up, at five months.

"Why doesn't she just come to see him so she won't be sad?" Josephine asked. Was she forgetting already? With Katie it was understandable.

"Josephine, go to nanny, so she can get you ready, and take Katie with you." He said to his oldest daughter. It came out a frustrated tone.

She heavily sighed, already prone to dramatics just like her mother.

"Did we do something?" George asked. He wasn't sure what the boy was asking at first. Maybe he was picking up on the his and Mary's emotions and thought it was because of them? Children were also intuitive. "Were we bad?"

He was a bit shocked that a four year old would come to that conclusion. A dead baby and he comes up with the notion it was because he and his sisters were bad children. George was biting his lip to keep it from quivering, his eyes watering.

"Hey, come here" He pulled his son to him. "It's nobody's fault this happened. It's not your fault. It's not Mama's fault. It's not Daddy's fault. It's just something very sad that happened. And we're so glad we have the four of you."

"Are you sad?"

Matthew tried to hide his frown as he buttoned up his son's jacket. Nanny was going to take them out to play in the snow. He wanted to go with them but the cold weather would make his old war injury flare up and hard to move around (he had humoured them last Christmas when the went on a sleigh ride. And the heat from the hot water bottles Mary had ingeniously placed on the seat had helped with the pain somewhat) and he could catch another cold like last year. He wanted to be able to join them and Mary for tea, the only time all six of them were together. Late October and there was already snow on the ground.

"We may be sad now, but we are still a happy and healthy family. We are together, and we love one another." He straightened up, "now, wipe your eyes before your sisters see." He didn't want Katie to see, to further confuse and upset her, especially Josephine, she could be quite the bully.

It was November when Mary started to come out of her haze. She had spend far too long in the world of the dead. It was time to return to the world of the living. She hadn't just treated her husband horribly but also Carson. He had taken the brunt of her unhappiness and she had insulted him by 'putting him in his place' when he had called her out on her behavior. She went down stairs to apologise to him and burst out crying. She tried to hold it back but the floodgates gave way.

"There you go, mi'lady. It's alright. Let it all out. You have yourself a good cry." She had felt guilty about it, she should be sharing a moment like this with her husband. She could never thank him enough for keeping the family going, keeping them afloat. She had been so awful. She didn't deserve him.

_Late February 1927_

Mary went in for a checkup she had scheduled with doctor Clarkson, it took a fair amount of convincing from Matthew and Isobel. Clarkson wanted to get her weight back up a bit, after months of eating small meals at various intervals of the day.

"I'm afraid this will be your last appointment. I will no longer be your family doctor after the wedding." Clarkson said, after putting his small torch in to his pocket of his lab coat. Isobel came into view of the doorway, waving at them, the doctor smiling at his future wife. Mary looked astonished, glancing from Clarkson to Isobel, then to Matthew. Matthew wore a smile on his face, indicating that he already knew. "We've set the date for next month." Mary congratulated them both, though she'd be sad not to see him as their doctor anymore. He had done so much for Matthew.

Mary asked him why he hadn't told her, as she pushed him in his wheelchair round the hospital grounds. He decided on some fresh air after doctor Clarkson insisted to examine him as well. _"Think of it as a parting gift." _And gave him an efficient bill of health, though his lung capacity seemed a bit depleted but not dangerously so. He recommended some new exercises to add to his routine, getting fresh air was one of them. That one Matthew didn't mind as much.

"He told me in confidence not to tell anymore until he was certain there was to be a wedding."

"When was this?"

"In January."

"It seems all rather sudden don't you think?"

"Clarkson and mother have been seeing each other for a few years, shortly after she broke it off with Lord Merton. She didn't want anyone's feelings to get hurt so they were doing so in secret."

"Why did he come to see you about it? To ask you for your mother's hand in marriage?" She was getting a kick out of it now.

"Not exactly." He cleared his throat. "I don't know what I should call him. Shall I call him Richard or Clarkson?" It was a bit of an awkward situation. He was used to him being his doctor and a friend to his mother, beyond that, he would never have imagined them together. He supposed he had enough in common with her and his father. And he had done all he could for him, especially saving his life. Were they the reasons they were getting married? He didn't think that was enough of a strong basis to base a marriage upon. Although he wouldn't mind the man being his step-father. Not only the change in the dynamic would be a bit awkward, the man had seen...all of him, even naked. Joking about how he should address the man eased that awkwardness, just a smidge. Still he couldn't prevent his face from growing hot.

She craned her neck round at him, noticing that his face was a bit flushed. Was Matthew Crawley blushing?

"What ever feels right to you." She smiled and continued on pushing.

* * *

_March 1927_

The small wedding was held in the back garden of Crawley House, chairs lined up in a neat row. White blossoms rained down on the newly married couple. It reminded Mary and Matthew of their own wedding day. Little Katie was the flower girl, Josephine had wanted to be the flower girl and had throw a tantrum. Both of her parents came to a compromise with her that she could help Katie down the aisle and show her what to do) and instead of a ring barrier George carried Tene down the aisle with the rings tied to the bell collar round her neck. The guests had awed at the children. This made their father proud, holding his head high, smiling brightly, turning his head toward his wife. Intertwining their hands together, she had her eyes on him while his were on their wedding bands, a symbol of their unbreakable bond they had promised each other. As she gazed at him, her eyes filling with love, oh, how impossible it seemed to love him anymore than she did. She recalled his words to her on the day of George's birth, _I fall more in love with you with each day that passes._ Those words were just as true for her. They lamented on their own special day. He still thought he looked like a fool in that photograph.

"But you're my fool."

He could hardly restrain himself from laughing at her response. "If their children ever asked to see our wedding photos, I'm not going to show them that one."

"They only see their papa. And they will see that one. The rest I'm going to hide from you."

Isobel scanned the crowd from where she stood, looking for her son. When she finally found him, he and Mary were sitting close together, both of them had this shining brightness about them that she had seen in herself and Reginald in their youth. Now she would share with Richard. Matthew was leaning over whispering to his wife, and she looking at him as a wife filled with undying love did. When he pulled away Isobel caught his smile, the most brightest and genuine she had ever seen since he had come back from the war. _Proof that life goes on_! _Everything is going to be alright. More than alright! _She knew they could get past the grief and sorrow, and find their way back to each other, though it would never truly be gone.

Looking across at his lovely wife, he felt they had more than enough to get through and could start living again. They needed this trip, a chance to further heal.

* * *

_**AN: A few days late getting this done. I was going to post on our favouirte character's birthday, Matthew's birthday on the tenth! A little happiness here and there for everyone. And some sadness, I won't try to drag on the loss of baby Beth Crawley. It's just too sad. You can fill in how the rest of family over came the struggle with their grief. I want to focus on Matthew and Mary. Their love that transcends time and can outlast anything. I re-wrote this chapter for you all so it can be the best it could be! Next Chapter a Holiday in Paris?**_


	24. Holiday in Paris

Mary and Matthew left for France the day of his mother's and Clarkson's honeymoon. This would be their second honeymoon, a few months early. They took the Downton train, then a cruise ship, then from there a cab to their hotel. The Ritz was lavish, elegant as depicted and yet she felt that the descriptions she had heard didn't do it justice. After their arrival, Matthew was understandably tired. Mr. Molesley came along with them, as his valet, and Baxter filled in for her ladies maid, both promising not to get in the way as much as possible. Molesley helped him dress and get him ready for bed as per usual. Then they were left alone.

She watched him sleep peacefully, but his face still carried this hardness to it. If he slept later into the day Mary would go out shopping with Baxter while Molesley stayed behind, keeping an eye out on Matthew in case he woke from a nightmare and she wasn't there. She highly doubted that he would. Upon her return Molesley stated that everything went well with no incident. She picked up a few frocks but mostly pant suits, that were highly fashionable to the modern working woman. She was starting to feel ridiculous and too old for flapper garb but Matthew preferred it. Only because it showed off her long silky legs. He was used to her more 'feminine' side. He joked when she showed them off to him.

"Alright. What ever you say, you old fashioned misogynist'." She teased back.

"It does suit you." At that she lowered her eyes at him, still in jest. "No pun intended. It shows how independent and empowered you are. A very modern wardrobe for a very modern woman."

"And does that make you feel intimidated?"

"Darling, I always have, since I first laid eyes on you. I thought I'd never be good enough, and then you gone and compared me to a sea monster as if to prove my point."

"Shh, that's enough talking." She had dressed down to her slip and was now laying on top of him, her chest against his. She uses her kiss to silence him. His eyes are dazed with confusion but not from the far off memories that haunted him but from being surprised. It's as if he didn't believe she just did that. The expression was starting to be replace with passion and animal instinct. She loves that puppy dog look. It's what really got her going, not just his handsomeness. It was absurd, how someone so handsome could be such a dork. It was a far cry from what she had first thought of him. She used to think, how could someone so handsome be so arrogant. She had been so wrong, oblivious of what had been in front of her all along. The story had an entirely unexpected outcome. One she planned on making up for, the rest of their lives. "It turns out that story has a very different ending."

"Oh. Does it?" He purrs with desire.

"A much better one. In fact, Andromeda, after struggling to find herself, comes to discover that the sea monster wasn't a monster at all. Perseus was." Their eyes met in that moment. Two souls connecting. A feeling washed over them that they were unable to resist. The next five minutes they made love. It was the most wonderful five minutes and most passionate and precious minutes she had ever felt in a long time, a very long time. She cried afterwards, laying spent, beside him.

He leaned over to brush her hair from her face. "Hey. Hey. You're alright. It's going to be alright." He continued to stroke her hair. "It's alright." He said again.

She just started to cry harder. Damn her emotions. She felt completely vulnerable. She had forgotten that he could make her feel that way and she sometimes hated it. But as Tom had described it, love was giving someone the power to hurt you, weather if they meant to or not, a leap of faith and you'd have to be willing to take it, and once you did, it was worth it.

While he still remained unfazed, or so it only seemed. _He's going through the same thing too. He's being brave for me. _She didn't want him to break down too.

She slipped between his arms and he placed them around her. She had missed this, missed him. She remained that way until she eventually fell asleep.

They mostly stayed in their room for the duration of their trip. But that didn't matter. Being in each other's arms was healing enough and other things. They weren't due back till the beginning of April. Three weeks all to themselves, just the two of them. The longest they had been together since before the children. It was a strange but welcoming quietness. She thought of all the bustle that would resume once they returned home. Matthew told her to try not to think about it. This was their time. "Let's enjoy it. I tend to enjoy ever last inch of you." He did as such after he said it, kissing every inch of her.

"Do you think you could go to those places ever again. Where you fought?" She had gotten the notation that if they went there, she could get a sense of understanding, that if he saw it again, he would be able to further move on. Lay some of those demons to rest. Maybe his mother had been right in thinking it would help.

He raised his head. "Maybe someday I can show them to you." A deep pain still remained, etched under his confidence and reassuring tone. He withdrew his arms from her leaned back against the pillows.

She's ruined the mood. She thought. There was still a part of him that was secret. Would it remain so for another ten, fifteen, until the children were grown? Or perhaps she'd never know. Never know that other side of him. He was going to great lengths to keep it hidden from her.

"I would never intentionally hurt you, Mary. You are the love of my life."

"As you are mine." How could he think that going there would hurt her? If that was what he meant. There was always this sadness she felt in the air sometimes. Without the children near, she felt it even more.

"I am happy." He said, like he had read her mind. _"_With what we do have. With you and the children, I have never felt so fulfilled. And I can't wait to go back to them, yelling and running to us, giving us the third degree upon or return. But it's just us for now." He gave her a kiss. "Let's pretend it's just you and me, and nothing else. Like before." Before the war, as if it never happened and they had been married all that time. Before all of the pain it had brought, their losses. This was their time to reconnect, to heal, to forget about everything else. It was just the two of them and nothing else existed. No war. No children. He did miss them. _Just us._

"Who knows when we'll get this chance again." She said.

"Exactly!" He could live a normal and happy life. Was that so wrong?

They did not speak of the past or present for the remainder of the trip. They were husband and wife, their souls intertwined both spiritually and physically.

The last few days they did make it out of their room. They didn't do much of sight seeing or dancing but they did go to the best top restaurants and cafes. They went to see the Eiffel Tower on the last night. They wouldn't be able to climb it of course. He wanted her to enjoy herself as usual, just like he'd say when they went out dancing and he got too tired to continue. But she insisted, "I'd rather enjoy the view from here."

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes."

They both weren't talking about the tower itself how it lit up against the night sky. They had both said the same words on the night he had proposed to her, the second time, on the balcony of his hotel.

"I can't think of any tower with such incredibly interesting architecture, proportions, elegance and history."

She had to bite back the urge to laugh at his dorkiness. "Only you would say something like that."

"I am pretty sure there is a reason why it is the symbol of Paris, and France, to some extent, aside from being the most visited paying monument in the world." He continued to ramble on. "Going to Paris and not seeing it, to me is more absurd than going to Rome and missing the Vatican and the Colosseum combined. Way more impressive than the Brooklyn Bridge or the Grand Canyon."

"Which you've never been, to any of those places." She said sarcastically. Then, really considering, "We could someday."

"No. I think my traveling days are over. I had enough excitement to last me a life time. Besides I prefer other forms of excitement."

And that was what they did that evening.

He wants to feel like a younger man. He wants to feel sexually attractive. He wants to be sexually wanted. He wants to feel intimate with the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. But then also thinks of their common interests that had brought them together, common interests that they still have. "From here on out, I want things to be different."

She lifted her head to get a better look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Not just centering our lives just around the children or the children being our only common interests." A routine he had gotten used to, only having time for each other at night.

_You have to go out and do things together that are different from what you did when you first met. Why? Because you've gotten stuck in a routine, and you're sitting next to your best friend, and you have to find things that are outside of that routine._

_We feel good temporarily, but then like a creature of habit, we go back to what feels comfortable. Date nights are bandages. Great steps to success are just that, steps without action. Want real change... Want to rekindle romance? It requires growth... Growth of self... Growth as a couple. What do I mean? Recall how exciting things were in the beginning? It's because you didn't know each other. You were new and fresh... Like a new car... Now that time has gone by, you both have a few dents... Coffee spills on the carpet. Change rekindles romance... How so, watch older couples? They're always trying new things... Going new places... Eating new foods... Attending unique and interesting events. They're living life together but as they grow._ They had both grown, were still growing. "We are different people from where we started, from who we began as. Everything we've faced, it made us different. But that doesn't mean we have to be indifferent."

"I still don't get what you're saying. I could finish a book before you get to the actual point."

"Ha, ha."

"or maybe even write one."

"Now you're just playing me. What I mean is, since then our experiences have made us who we are. Because of that, we're unbreakable. We survived. How many couples get to say that, that they found their one true love and got to hold onto it? We've come farther than most. We've changed and we've grown. We're still growing. And I still want to."

"Still want to what?"

"Grow with you. Grow old with you. Because I know I will. I used to think that I never would. I can't picture myself staying young for ever." Dying young, he had meant. He never had thought of old age, since before now.

Her eyes were watering with joy. Up until then she didn't believe that he believed that he would live to old age. Hearing him say those words, that he actually meant them, made her happy and fortunate to look forward to those days.

"What about me?"

"You will still be. At least to me."

"Right answer." She playfully gave him a kiss, placing his arms around him.

"But I do mean it. We should take more time for us. Try new things."

"I like the sound of that." She said against his neck. The warmth of her breath, stirring the fire that would never go out.

* * *

_**AN: Very, very short. But I wanted to make it that way since the last few were very long. For now, this is how I leave you. Any interesting ideas to take this story. If you are interested would you like to see what were Molesley and Baxter were really up to on 'their Paris Holiday?" **_

_**Downton will once again fall on hard times before the second world war, and the fate of the Earl of Grantham hangs in the balance during a health scare, and with Matthew's injury flares up after the anniversary of Beth's death, Mary and Tom come up with a plan that they must take charge if both Robert and Matthew are ****incapacitated**** at the same time due to their health, Mary fears, (but wears a brave face) that could become a common occurrence in the future. A charity tour of the great house is thrown to support the successful merger of the hospital. Violet is kicked out as president of the hospital and tensions rise between Rachel and Violet as she takes her place. The showing of the great house is almost a disaster with how little the family know of their own family history until someone unexpected comes to the rescue. And just as Molesley and Baxter start to have their own happiness, an almost two decade old secret comes back to haunt her. **_


	25. April-May 1927

It had taken two years to combine the village hospital with the York Hospital. Isobel and Clarkson invited Rachel to Crawley House for the news as she was part of the board of the hospital in the village.

"I received a letter this morning from the Board of Governors." Clarkson stated. He and Isobel, well, he decided that he would tell Rachel, as Isobel said she'd feel awkward about it. He got the sense that she had him tell Rachel, so she would be the one to tell the Dowager. "I may be retired but they still want me on the board. I am to remain at my post here." He was sure that Isobel had swung that somehow. Perhaps using Matthew's shell shock to ensure their stay, that she needed to be close, and relocating would be a mute point as all the necessary updated equipment he could come to need would be near by. It wasn't beneath her. Though it was justifiable. At any given time he could relapse. It was evident that Matthew hadn't told his wife or mother.

Five years without one was a remarkable feat but it was also a matter of time.

"And Isobel is to stay on an almoner." He continued, his eyes going to her. She had a nervous expression, almost biting her lip. "But they want to offer the role of president to...you."

"Me? Why?" Rachel was almost absolutely horrified. Not only was worried how some of the villagers would take to a Jewish woman in that position, she was more worried how this would come across to Violet. When she was just starting to warm up to her being part of the family.

"Well, you made a good impression when you went in to York." Was all Isobel could say. She whole heartedly encouraged her but it felt almost a betrayal to an old friend.

"What about Violet?"

"Lady Grantham is..." Clarkson hesitated, and I quote the board while saying this, " He didn't want to be under fire from Violet as well. Her ladies maid, Danker, had thrown accusations at him and he had to take action, almost getting the maid fired. 'is allowed to step down after so many years of noble service."

"You can see their point. How can they have someone in the management of the new system who thinks the whole idea is horrible to begin with?" Isobel said rhetorically.

"And you support this notion?" Rachel turned to Clarkson.

"Of course he does." His wife answered for him. The old doctor wasn't quite used to that. His mouth still opened and closed like a fish out of water. "He put your name forward as your replacement."

"Lady Grantham is not as young as she once was." He agreed. "And as Isobel says, I'm afraid she would be willing the new regime to fail."

"No doubt. But is this the way to go about things?"

"It is in the best interests of your patients. Besides I want to involve linguistics of running things and she would never agree to take that on."

"So I am to step into her shoes and take on more responsibility than she's ever had?" That didn't seem fair, and it was far worse.

The two of them were pretty nervous and fidgety in a figurative sense. They were skating around something. It wasn't just that they were trying to find a way to be a couple around others.

"We both think you'd be marvelous." Isobel further encouraged.

"You want me to be the one to tell her." It was an observation. She wasn't angry at them, more like disappointed that they went about it this way.

"They'll write as soon as they hear back for me." But what Clarkson was saying felt more like a cop out.

"I need to talk to Lord Grantham about this."

"The thing is, we don't want to come up with another name." Isobel said from behind her as Rachel started to depart.

"Don't we? It might be easier all around if we did."

* * *

The post was later to arrive that afternoon. Well, Anna held off on delivering it, figuring that she and Matthew would want to sleep in. And 'sleep in' they did. She thanked Anna for that, silently to herself. Matthew went straight back to actual sleep after breakfast. At lunchtime it was just her, Edith and Papa. It seemed to have become routine. Matthew and Rachel would stay up in their respective rooms. Mary couldn't help but give her father the shifty, amusing eyes. but he didn't seem to notice.

Carson arrived with the post instead.

There were two letters. One from Rose and the other from Tony Gillingham. What could he possibly want? She hadn't heard from him for a year and a half. She concealed her eagerness to open it first, so she opened the one from Rose instead.

"There's a letter from Rose."

"What does she have to say for herself?" Robert didn't seem all that much happy.

"Everything's good in New York as usual. They can't come to Andy's birthday party but she wants to rent him a pony. And they send their regards. They'll be taking a house in the Hamptons for the summer." She scanned the rest over quickly, a habit she had picked up. "Golly, looks like Rose might be pregnant."

"Why do you say that?" Didn't she just have a child? Robert marveled. He could talk. George, Josephine and Katie, were nearly all born on the heals of each other, being at least a year and a half older than each other. George and Josephine were fifteen months apart and Katie was thirteen months apart from her older sister.

"She says, I might be back in August but it's a bit early to say."

"Only you would add two and two together and get fifty-three." Edith chimed disbelievingly.

"I'm the one who has four children." She retorted but kept her cool. And another one soon, but she decided not to divulge that information. She wanted to tell her husband first. She would tell the rest of them at dinner.

* * *

Mary went over the news of Rose's with Matthew before they were to go down that evening. "And Tony Gillingham's invited us to dinner with some friends next Friday."

"I think we should go." He said without hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

Why must she always ask that like he was fragile? "It would be nice to get out of the house."

"We were out..."

"Being in bed all day in a foreign country is nothing different than what we do here."

"That reminds me. I was planning on telling the family at dinner but I wanted to tell you first."

"You missed two cycles."

"How...how did you know?"

"I keep track of things." She had to smile at that, but it fell as he continued, I think it's safe to say that we both suspected for a while now."

She nodded, a bit solemn to match his somewhat solemn tone. Is he thinking that this baby can't replace the one they had lost? That it won't replace the hole that is there. Is it too soon to have another child? It was too late for that. She didn't want anything to happen to this child. If they lost this one, she did not know if she could go through it all again, if they could survive it. They must. They hadn't taken precautions while in Paris or thought about the outcome of making another. After this, she was starting to think of not having anymore.

"This hopefully will be our last one." She said.

"Are you sure about that?" He said, smiling, a smug expression on his face. Such a drastic change from a moment ago. She'd forgotten how quickly his mood could change on a dime, like flipping a switch. That usually happened when...she didn't want to think about it. Those days were long gone. "You know I can't keep my hands off you."

"You'll just have to. I'm not getting any younger. Just think, seven months! He or she will have the same birth month as Josephine."

"I bet she'll enjoy that!" Josephine was always demanding sole attention.

"Speaking of birthday's. After Andy's party, I was planning on something special for us. Maybe dinner or a show. Just no birthday sex for you." She gave him a mischievous look she hoped he would return. He wore no expression at all.

"I don't want to celebrate."

They both fell into a dreaded silence. Of course he wouldn't want to celebrate his own birthday. He hadn't the first time he had come home after being injured in March of 1917.

"We'll at least have to for Andy. Rose wants to rent him a pony." She carried on, something undistinguished, Matthew wasn't paying attention to... "I told her what would a one year old possibly do with a pony..."

"I hope it's a girl." He said. "I know it won't replace Beth but..."

"Is that what you named her?" They had never discussed it._ Baby Crawley 1926 Precious daughter and sister, for ever an angel,_ had just gone on her stone marker. Perhaps it had been too painful for him then.

He duly nodded. "Abigail Elizabeth Crawley. I was just thinking Beth. Abby would be a bit too ironic. We haven't put her name officially on her gravestone." He played with the glass in his hand, the liquid swirling around but he does not look at it. He's not looking directly at her. She cannot read the expression in his eyes. "We can do that for her birthday. After the party, which would be a weekend." Sunday at the beginning of the week would be fitting.

"That's right." She didn't want to talk about it. It felt kind of morbid. Though Beth Crawley would be nice instead of just baby.

It would be easier to change than having a new one made. Matthew was thinking. He can feel something clawing and pulling at his mind. _It can't come back. Not now. Not ever._ Mentally trying to fight it was making him feel exhausted.

"I think I'm going to turn in." He started getting up from the chair.

"Are you..?" She was going to ask him if he was sure he didn't want her to do anything special for him for his birthday. She devised against it because she immediately knows his answer won't change.

He did not answer her, just made his way to the bed and pulled back the covers. It was like he was sleepwalking. _He's trying to not let himself feel or most of all, think._

"You're not coming down for dinner then?"

He shook his head. "Maybe later. Tell them I'm tired." Which was true.

_"_I'll have a tray brought up for you. Get some rest._" A good night's sleep will do him good._ Her Matthew Crawley will awake from hibernation. She excited the room.

* * *

Mary was determined to take extra precautions with this baby. Though it couldn't be certain that would prevent anything. There was no explanation as to why they had lost the last one.

It had taken her six months to come out of her haze from losing Beth. For the first few, she had gotten this feeling that she needed to feed both babies. When she would hear him cry she swore she could hear two. Is that what Matthew had experienced, while going through his own demons, the first few years after the war, hearing the ghosts? Did he still? Questions she could not ask him. She did not want to resurface old wounds, she wasn't sure were fully healed. For the first time, she was able to express it, at least in writing.

_Someday I will tell him, we will tell him about his twin, and answer the questions he might have._

_Coming home on the drive from the hospital that day, my husband was silent as I stared at the hard blue sky. Nothing around us had changed, and yet nothing was the same. I felt dazed and helpless; my body was at war with itself, and I was holding the grenade._

_Months after the funeral, I blindly followed the advice of well-meaning friends and family who told me to put aside my grief and focus on my son and other children. Think of all the women who come home from the hospital empty-handed, they said. Be grateful._

_I stifled the jealousy that threatened to consume me when I encountered mothers pushing a pram in the park, with two babies that looked barely a year older than each other. I had not only lost a baby, I'd been deprived of the opportunity of raising my twins together._

_The grief was always there, festering beneath thin layers of denial sealed with the glue of false acceptance. I couldn't let my pain show for fear that he might one day experience survivor guilt or worse, feel incomplete, as if he were part of a broken set. I functioned on automatic pilot, struggling every day to ignore her death and the hollow sensation her absence left, like a phantom limb._

_I knew that I couldn't let her death overshadow my son's life. Instead, I boxed up my conflicting emotions of joy and sadness and shelved them in a dark corner of my heart. It was time to live again. I'd been clinging to my pain as a way of holding onto my daughter. I felt that letting go of the grief meant letting go of her. My children needed me, my husband needed me. It wasn't fair that I had thrown all this onto his shoulders, being the one to hold everything together. I hadn't been focused on how this effected him, how he could have fallen apart. But he hadn't. Miraculously he hadn't fallen back into that deep dark tunnel of depression. He'd been stronger and braver through it all._

_In March of the new year, we took a vacation, just the two of us, to Paris. He had already booked the trip. We needed to take time for ourselves, reinvent ourselves as it were, reignite that passion, I had so long denied him. He had been there as I had for him, in those six months after George was born when he had fallen into that dark hole. But George hadn't died. Those who had suffered a different but familiar type of pain can find a way to connect. But we have suffered the same pain, separately and in different ways. He's lost his child too. I remind myself. He might be hiding it. It was OK for him not to be strong. But he did not break._

He wouldn't for at least almost a year.

* * *

He came round to the feeling of cold tile against his skin, and the tears streaming down his face. It took him a moment to realise where he was. He was lying on the bathroom floor. He couldn't recall how he had gotten there nor what he was crying for. Then it had all come back to him. Her tiny little body, blue, and molted with decay, changed into their faces, the ghosts of his fellow soldiers and those of whom he had killed, staring back at him through the mirror, taunting him.

As he sat up, (the images threatening to assault him) a tingling sensation shot up his legs and through his body. When he tried to stand, he discovered that he couldn't move. It was as if his lower half was fully paralyzed again. But this time he couldn't move any part of his body. He started to breath heavily, then suddenly his heart began to beat faster. He couldn't catch his breath. Then his throat felt like it was tightening. It was as if he was suffocating.

He was dying. At least that's what he thought. He thought of Mary, the children. He didn't want this to be it. He didn't want her to find him this way. He had always imagined that he would die in her arms.

Sobs wracked his body as the air seemed to refuse to enter his body. The sensation was coming back. The tightness he felt around him, he realised, was from someone holding him.

It wasn't Mary's arms around him. How he wished they were hers. It was Clarkson.

"It's alright. Breathe. Just breathe."

How was he supposed to breathe? Couldn't he see he was suffocating? "I can't...I'm dying."

"You're not dying."

He's only able to shake his head back and forth. "N...no..."

He had his stepson's head resting in his lap now. His eyes are darting around with that glazed expression. He's about to go into an episode, or into another one. He needed to calm him to bring him out of it.

"Matthew. Matthew, it's alright. Just listen to my voice."

He tries to, through the darkness. The tingling sensation starts to recede. Suddenly he finds he can move again, finds that he can breathe. But then the arms become tighter. He had to get away. He doesn't want to feel that frightening experience again, of the air being crushed out of him. He could just imagine the cold hands of the dead, trying to drag him back, where he belonged, with them. "No. No." He belongs here. "I belong here." He was unaware that he had voiced it aloud.

"Yes. Yes, you do belong here."

He tries prying at them, struggling against him but it was in vain, the man's grip was strong for an old man.

"I know it might feel that you're dying, you're not. You're just having a panic attack. Calm. Just calm."

"Don't tell mother. Mary..." His voice was still slurred from the tears.

"I'm afraid I have to."

The rest goes by in a blur as Clarkson helps him up, leading him to his bed. "I'll give you something that will help."

* * *

"Isobel. I need to speak to you about Matthew." He looked anxiously between his wife and stepdaughter in-law.

"Is he alright?" Isobel asked. "It's not his health?

"He's not coming down with something is he?" Mary voiced her own concern. "I told him to wear extra layers when he went out." She was joking now, an attempt not to show more worry than she led on. Clarkson exchanged glances with Isobel. "Whatever it is you can say in front of me." Mary said. "I am his wife."

"He's had an episode."

"It's been years." Isobel was taken aback by the news and yet she felt that she should have expected it, at least had known. Given the number of episodes he had had a few years after the war ended. She had been in denial, thinking that they would just go away for ever, she had just said that to the board, that he needed her care in case of a relapse, so they would not have to transfer. The episodes had come back in those years whenever he was under a great deal of stress. It had appeared that he had been holding it together this past year, when in reality she should have known that he really hadn't been. He had just been distracting himself from his own grief and it had finally caught up with him. She's aware of her head moving up and down to her husband's words, though it's almost as if she has no control, what her very own son must feel, and she had failed to see it.

"It's like any other disease, that can go into remission for years. And it can relapse. It's a disease of the mind. He's otherwise healthy but this...it's like scar tissue."

The two women avoid looking at each other, not wanting to reveal to each other how they thought they had failed. Mary for a different reason, but for Isobel, as a mother.

"I gave him a sedative to calm him. He's resting now."

"I'll see to him now, unless..." _His wife should see him first._ She turned to Mary.

"No, Isobel, go. I'll see him later." She took a second. "In the meantime I'll go see what the children are up to. Some of them must be up past their bedtime. Nanny might need a hand to get them rounded up."

Isobel walked in slowly, her feet shuffling on the carpet.

"Are you...are you wake?" She made her way to the side of the bed and reached out for his hand. "Matthew?" He did not stir or respond. What ever Richard had given him had been strong. She should be angry that he'd given him a sedative without her permission. But it must have been bad. He had been given relief. Would it only last till it wore off? She reached out and took his hand, stroking it with her fingers. Somewhere in his drug induced sleep he had to know that she was there for him.

* * *

While he was asleep Mary explained it to the children. She rounded them up. Like she had expected, they had been unruly towards bedtime, running round the nursery. Their noise could wake their father and set off yet another episode. But he was heavily sedated, she reminded herself. She got them to quiet down, telling them, "I need to tell you all something, something very important. So I need you all to listen." and they all had gathered around her like she was going to tell them a story.

"Are you going to tell us a story? I like it better when Papa tells us stories." Katie said, oblivious to the seriousness.

Mary shook her head. "Papa is really ill right now."

"Is he going to die?" The little girl asked.

"What? Of course not. Your Papa, he's been in a war. Do anyone know what a war is?"

"A war is when people hurt each other. They fight over who gets more land." George said. "But why would Papa be in a war? Papa would never want to hurt anyone."

"Your Papa didn't want to. It was what he had to do. And what he saw hurt him so...Sometimes he still thinks of the war and he gets sad or he gets scared."

"Like when he has nightmares." Josephine said.

Mary was puzzled as to how she knew this. Quickly she recovered. "Yes. Just like when he has nightmares. But they can happen during the day. When he's awake. When that happens, if he gets scared I want you to come get me or an adult you can trust, like Granny Isobel."

"Or Grandpapa Clarkson? He's a doctor." Katie stated enthusiastically.

"Yes. Him too."

"I didn't know grown ups can get scared too." George slightly frowned at this new information.

"Grown ups can get scared too. But I want you all to know this, that doesn't mean your papa is any less brave. He is so very brave. And he's a hero."

"That's better than any fairy tale I read." Katie said.

"You can't even read." Josephine took a jab at her. "I already knew that papa was a hero. Besides fairy tales aren't real."

"Yes they are. Prince and princesses are real. Papa is a knight." They all start arguing.

"No. He's an Earl." George said.

"Not yet." Josephine corrected.

"He will be someday and so will I."

"Nuh uh, you can't both be Earl at the same time, not till papa dies." Josephine said.

Katie starts bawling now, fearful. "I don't want Papa to die."

"Now all of you," Mary raised her voice above theirs. "it's quite enough of that. It's time for bed." She picks up Katie. Andy, who had surprisingly slept through the whole thing, starts to cry himself. "Papa is not going to die." She calms her youngest daughter, not for a very long time yet."

"You have to wait a long time before 'you' become prince of the castle." Josephine had a smug grin.

"Please, will you all be quiet? I have to get Andy settled back down. That means I have to walk him around the estate for hours. Now get into bed. I won't tell you all again. You'll need your sleep for tomorrow. I want you all your best."

They went to bed like good little children that they were raised to be.

* * *

"Did I cause this?" Mary asked Clarkson, whom she now considered a father in-law. He had taken good care of Matthew over the years, even now, when he was retired. "Maybe I shouldn't have let him convince me to let us take that trip to Paris. I should have tried harder."

"I believe France had nothing to do with this. It's been almost a year since the loss of your child. In all that time he's been taking too much on, looking after your children, shouldering that responsibility, he didn't allow himself to grieve."

"So, this is my fault." Spending time away from her own family, dealing with her grief alone while they should have grieved together.

"I'm not saying that."

"I was talking about our son's birthday."

"It could have been any number of things."

"But you just said..."

"It's just a belief."

He went to check on Matthew, "How are you feeling?"

"My whole body aches and my head."

"It's from flexing your muscles too long. Adrenaline kicks in the fight or flight response."

"Can you stop being a doctor for five minutes?"

"Sorry. It's easier for me. It's become a habit of mine." While that was the truth he also didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Though he did feel responsible in a way for Matthew.

"Since when?"

"Since my wife died."

"Your first wife." He said with a curiosity. He only knew that she had died of an illness. Clarkson and his first wife had married young and she had died young. That was more than thirty years ago. If he had a child, he'd be around Matthew's age. Was the doctor projecting? Matthew had had some reservations of his marriage to his mother, that he hadn't been married long enough to be an affective husband to his mother. They seemed more like friends to him than an actual couple. He did appreciate the man's effort.

"She suffered with something similar. There were days she would stay in bed, wouldn't eat. She got sick because she wouldn't take care of herself. Pneumonia. I wished I had told her that she wasn't a failure, that she was needed."

"Is that why you took a fascination in me? By looking after me, I'm sort of an extension of her? I'm some sort of replacement? The son you would have had." It hurt Matthew more to voice the accusations. "Well, I'm nothing like her."

"No. You're not." Clarkson desperately wanted to reach him, fearing that he ended up overstepping anyway. "I care for your well being because I love your mother and you are her son. I think of you as a son."

Matthew seemed touched by his statement. They could build on that.

* * *

_I should have known how bad things were. Clarkson had found him in the bathroom, suffering from an attack. He hadn't had a episode in years. How could I not have know? I should have known that it wouldn't just go away. That there was a possibility that it could come back at any given time. As Clarkson had explained it to Isobel and I, I could hardly believe the words. I felt myself solely responsible. I had been caught up in my own grief. We should have grieved together. I had mentioned Andy's and his birthday._

_It could have been a number of things. Clarkson says. But I'm not so sure. He had given Matthew something to calm him. He would be sleeping now. I let Isobel see him first, while I tended to the children. I had to explain to them the best I could for I didn't know how long their papa would be away._

* * *

Mary had given him a journal to write in for one of his birthdays, to write down his nightmares and his feelings and experiences. She promised that she would never see it or ask him to see it if he didn't want her to. It had helped her. She figured it would help him. His last entry had been nearly five years ago. He picked up a pen to write.

_This baby should make me happy. I am. But I feel the same as I had when I had learned of George's birth. My guilt had resurfaced. She, if it was a girl, would not replace_ her. _I tell my mother this. __She says that it's just the depression. Which is odd because I don't feel it. I don't really feel anything._

_We had gotten a lot of sympathy and support from the family after we lost Beth. Precious Beth, my little brown haired girl, that looked just like Mary too, I still miss her. My heart is heavy and aches still, in the place where she should be. I had to be in the here and now, take control of things, and I did. The day we drove home from the hospital, I felt like she was slipping away from me. Was this how I was? It was like looking in a mirror._

_She found her way back eventually. I knew she would on her own._

_We were talking about the twin's birthday and what we should do for mine. The next thing I knew I could feel the coldness of the tile floor of the bathroom. My face was wet with tears that I don't recall shedding. I try to take in a breath but my lungs seem to refuse. My heart began to race, I could feel my chest tighten._

_Oh God, I'm dying. I thought. Mary, the children...I couldn't die. Not now._

_Then I felt arms around me, telling me to breathe. "Just breathe."_

_I shudder and sob, my body betraying me._

_The same hands helped me off the floor and into bed. "I'll give you something that will help."_

_Doctor Clarkson. He and mother married a month ago. That didn't explain what he was doing here._

_I feel drowsy when I wake. I tell Mary to tell the children that I'm ill. That's the best I can think off. It's partially the truth. What they can understand. I needed a few days to feel myself again._

He stops writing, putting it away safely under lock and key, and sits down in front of the fire.

When she comes back I don't care what she has told them. I don't care about anything at the moment._ It is living in a maze of memories, we don't live in the now, we live in what was, or what could be._

"Five years. It's been five years." I swallow and shake my head back and forth. No matter how much I half expected it, it still came as a surprise, a blow.

"I know." She knelt down beside me. "I know." She repeated.

"Doctor Clarkson told me." He had told me all those years ago. That I would always have this. Always lying inside me like a beast, some demon, waiting to awaken from slumber and take hold of my mind. I had desperately wanted to believe, had hoped that he had been wrong. He had been wrong about my initial diagnosis after all. But even now, I can feel my mind slip away. For a time I believe it does. When I awaken, I have no sense of time, how many hours had passed. She stays with me, holding my hand. That's all I need.

* * *

The next two days, everything was back to normal as she had hoped. His mind once again sound. _He just needed a few days rest. _

He said what was exactly on her mind. "Everything is falling back into equilibrium. I think we should go to the dinner with Tony and his friends next Friday. That is if the offer still stands."

Mary nodded. She still wondered what Tony could possibly want, inviting her and Matthew out of the blue. In his letter he sounded as if he wanted something from her. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"I'm up for anything at this point."

They were in for a busy week. The following afternoon they were to have guests. Edith invited a potential candidate for an editor for her newspaper and her husband to luncheon.

"A Mr. Harding and his wife will be joining us for luncheon tomorrow." She discussed while they were having their own lunch. "I've been looking for a replacement editor at the paper."

"Again? It's not going down under?" Robert sounded a little bit too eager. He still hoped she'd stop chasing this silly dream and find a man she could settle with and be happy.

"No. It's just I can't seem to find one that will stick. They're all from the older generation. Anyway, Aunt Rosamund suggested her."

"Her?" Robert's interest was peaked.

"I was thinking of hiring a female as editor this time."

"Brava!" Isobel cheered.

"That's good to hear!" Matthew replied.

* * *

Edith's guests arrived a half hour early._ Of course they'd be as square as her. _Mary thought. _Another droll evening with boring guests. The same old routine. _When she saw Mrs. Harding, she swore she'd seen her somewhere before.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" Mary asked.

"No. I don't think so."

"You do look familiar." Matthew had also noticed. He'd been furrowing his brows at her from across the room.

"I guess I just have one of those faces."

They went through to the dinning room when the luncheon was declared ready.

"Now, I remember where I've seen you before." Matthew suddenly blurted out as he was finally able to place her. "I hadn't been here that long when you left. You were a housemaid here."

"You worked here? At Downton?" Robert felt like a fool for not recognising her, and Matthew had.

"Why didn't you tell us? You had every opportunity." Mary said in her Mary Crawley fashion.

Mrs. Harding became rather uncomfortable. It suddenly hit him, that she hadn't wanted that to be known. For some reason.

"I'm sorry to have outed you." Matthew deeply apologised. Speaking without thinking, way to go and embarrass her.

"No. Not at all." Gwen put up her hand to the footman, offering her seconds. "I'm fine thanks."

"You worked in this house?" Mr. Harding sounded surprised, in a thrilled and ecstatic way.

"It was a life time ago really. Before the war. That is where I got my start. Sybil helped me put advertisements in the paper. And got me a job interview. She stalled the man installing the telephone here."

"Is that why I was locked out of the library?" Robert asked, musing about that particular day.

"Sybil helped you?" Mary questioned slowly. Her turn to be surprised. An example that her sister would always be the better, kind, one. "Dear Sybil." She muttered, her eyes looking up but finding nothing to say.

"Did you keep in contact?" Tom asked.

"Christmas cards and the like. And then I heard. I was wondering if I could see her." The family, especially Robert looked mortified, "her daughter. Just Matthew and I."

Gwen and Matthew went up the the nursery. He wondered why she asked for him and not Tom. Obviously it should have been Tom.

"What's her name?"

"Sybie."

"It's a fitting name."

"Yes."

"I heard a lot about you. She spoke often of you and Tom. How she helped you when you got your injury. How it changed you." He halted upright. What did she mean by that? Surely she wouldn't tell this girl, well young woman about his other injury, that was never spoken of. "Your kindness reminds me of her."

They turned their attention to Sybie, watching her play.

"I was with her. But not when it happened."

"I heard about that too. She would have thanked you for trying to help her."

* * *

Mr. Chamberlain, the minister for health was invited to dinner that evening, to see over the benefits of the merger. His initial say in the matter would make it official. Granny was determined to win him over to her side.

Robert hadn't been himself as of late. It was far apparent at the dinner table. It first came across as him just being agitated and annoyed with the bantering between Isobel, his mother and Clarkson, because he was. The pain in his stomach was becoming unbearable, he was almost doubled over. He felt if he didn't stand he would faint. Standing up would conceal how much pain he was in.

"Can't we stop this beastly row?" As he stood he had one hand on the side of his stomach. Rachel had grabbed his hand, trying to sooth him. He removed it, swaying a bit. "Because I...Because I..."

Then suddenly a torrent of blood spewed from his mouth.

Clarkson rushed over to him, even Matthew (as fast as what was possible for him, which wasn't very), who had taken the majority of the spray, from across the table. All over his white shirt, and not his face. Thank God.

"What...what is it?" Violet asked, horrified.

"His ulcer has burst." Clarkson said.

"What?" Edith asked, shocked, wondering why no one had told them that they had returned.

"I'll ring for the ambulance." Carson ran fast out of the room, faster then he's ever run.

Mary just stood frozen. The whole scene was as if a blood bath had taken place.

Matthew knelt by her father's side after Clarkson and Tom had lowered Robert to the floor. His mother handing him linens to soak up most of the blood.

Rachel was trying to push her way in through the small throng to get to her husband. Robert reached up, albeit weakly, for her and took her hand.

"Darling, if this is it..."

"I won't let this be it."

Mary was still fixed to the spot, unable take her eyes off her father, off the horror playing out before her.

"This is not going to be it, you hear me?" This was from Matthew this time.

"Here. Does he need some water?" Violet offered.

"No! No water." Clarkson waved. It would be the worst thing to do. He wasn't concerned about Matthew's health or mental state at the moment or worried how seeing all this blood would affect him. He didn't seem fazed by it at all, which was just as well. That meant he was making progress. Lord Grantham's health was the one in jeopardy. "Just keep him steady till the ambulance arrives."

By the time Carson got downstairs, it had already reached the servants.

"Is he very bad?" Miss Patmore asked.

"I've rung for the ambulance. It'll be here shortly. Miss Baxter, Anna, fetch their ladyship's coats. Don't forget Lady Edith."

"What can I do to help, sir?" Bates asked.

"Put together something that could be useful but hurry. There's no time to loose."

"I can't believe it!" Mrs. Hughes took her husband's arm.

"Life is short. Death is sure. That is all we know."

The ambulance arrived to take Robert. As they were preparing him for transfer, Chamberlin exited the dinning room to give them space.

"I'm not sure how much use I can be here, Lady Grantham." He addressed Rachel. "I will consider the plans."

"Don't. That is, let it stand. Given the circumstances."

Violet came over, after Mary had been reassuring her. Though she felt that her granddaughter was trying more to reassure herself. "Give my love to dear Ann." She said to Chamberlain.

Rachel was rushing to get ready, Baxter putting on her coat for her, while Daniel was putting Violet's on for her. She felt her mother-in-law hovering over her like a vulture as she stood next to her.

"Don't reprehend me, Violet. Now's not the time to be diplomatic."

"Don't you think I have enough things to worry about?"

"They're ready." Isobel announced as she came into the front room, "they're going to take him now." The ambulance drivers came out with Robert on the stretcher, carrying him out the door.

"Girls, Mary, Edith, we must go." Rachel called to them.

Mary was the last to follow. Matthew grabbed her hand.

"Telephone with any news. No matter how late..."

"I will." She put her arms around his shoulders, giving him a peck on his left cheek. On her way out, she stopped briefly to talk to Anna, waiting by the door.

"I'll need you to stay here. Keep an eye out on him for me." She nudged her head in his direction. He was faced away from her, one hand in his pocket, the other on his cane. And quite thankful she didn't have to see his eyes. Lord only knew what was in his eyes.

* * *

Matthew went up. He wanted to see the children. Someone had to tell them about their grandfather but first he needed to change. He got on his pajamas, tossing his dress shirt across the room. Just then a knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Anna. I've come to turn down the bed and get somethings ready for Lady Mary?" The last part was more of a question. She was discreetly asking if he was decent.

"Come in."

He didn't know if it was out of habit, but as she entered, she didn't make eye contact with him at first. He started to get up.

"That's alright, sir. You don't have to get up."

He watched her pace back and forth, getting the bed ready. His eyes then fall on the white shirt, standing out like some bloody omen. "Could you pick that shirt up for me please?" He didn't want to touch it again.

She finally looked up, then to the floor, scanning the area around her. When she couldn't find it, he nodded in the vicinity of the shirt.

"I don't think there's any saving it."

"I'll see what Mr. Bates can do." She balled it up in her hands. Intentionally hiding the blood?

"You can try."

"I know it must've been hard seeing Lord Grantham that way. As I understand, you handled it rather well."

"She sent you up here to check on me. Did she?" He asked humorously. "How is little Johnny coming along?"

"Oh, he's starting to cut teeth. Bates thinks that's why he's on a tyrant, not just his terrible twos, and he's not even."

"You always know when they're cutting teeth. They go through a phase of becoming little terrors. This too shall pass."

She smiled at him as she fluffed the pillows. "There you go. All set."

"Thank you, Anna."

She closed the door behind her on her way out. She had neglected to 'get somethings ready for Lady Mary.'

* * *

Mary and Edith walked down the long halls, that now seemed even longer and to never end, impossibly more so then when they were children.

"I called Bertie. I said I'd be staying for a few days." Neither sister said a word for a second. "It's frightening how things can change in an instant."

"Yes, it only takes a moment for everything to feel quite different." It had when Sybil had died, when her own baby had died, whom she had been sure was moving moments before her birth and when Matthew came back from the war. It was like she had blinked and he had become someone else. But deep down he would always be her Matthew. That's all that mattered. If she blinked again, Matthew would become Earl, a position she was afraid that he would be unable to handle at this given time..._Papa will be alright. _

"I'm going to check on the children."

"Of course you are." As she saw Edith off at the nursery door, Tom was coming out of his bedroom.

"How is he?"

"He's alright. But It's knocked the stuffing out of him."

"And Matthew?"

She chose not to answer, or let him know that she wasn't certain at all.

"We'll be sure to lighten the mood when he returns."

"To be more precise Tom." There was a slight hesitation, "if they were ever to become ill" Incapacitated or indisposed sounded too trite a wording. "at the same time, which I feel could become a common occurrence, which it might, you and I need to take full responsibility of the estate. We'll involve him in the big decisions, both of them. But I think Papa shouldn't have any more worry. That's why he got the ulcer in the first place."

"So, long live our Queen Mary!"

Matthew was sitting at the vanity when she entered their bedroom. She took off her coat and her purse, laying them by the door, along with her pumps. She went up behind him, putting her arms around him.

His body let out a sigh.

"You still got a little something.' She took out her handkerchief and whipped the dried smudge of blood off his face. The side mirrors and the small standing one on the desk part, worked miracles.

"I almost went back there again. I saw Patrick, in his place. But I was able to pull myself back!"

"That's wonderful, darling!" It truly was. He even sounded thankful at this miraculous progress. Then why did it feel like he was far away? He was distancing himself. But why?

"How is he?" _Do I need to prepare for the news that I might be Earl by morning? _

"He's fine now. Stable."

"I told the children. That he needed to be taken to hospital but we didn't know anything yet."

"Edith's with them. I'm sure she's told them by now."

He nods. "Let's go see them together."

On the way to the nursery they heard a scream. It sounded like Josephine. Mary raced ahead. Matthew would catch up, and Edith was with her.

When she got to the door, she saw that her oldest daughter was throwing a tantrum.

"Tene is bunny kicking my dress!" She pointed her finger to the middle of the room.

There in the middle of the rug, Tene was curled up, Josephine's dress balled up in her paws, kicking at it with her back claws. Matthew made it to the door, just in time to see, catching his breath.

"Well, if you didn't leave them on the floor." Mary said.

Both parents smiled. Mary smiled up at Matthew as he gave a slight chuckle.

* * *

Mary and Tom came up with an idea, to open the house for charity, to donate money to help fund the merger. Robert of course was not too keen. He'd been nearly a week in bed. Tomorrow she and Matthew would take dinner at the Criterion with Tony and his friends. And then in two days would be Andy's party. The charity tour wouldn't be scheduled till towards the seventeenth.

"What would they pay to see?" Robert asked, skeptical of the idea. "We have nothing to show. A decent Reynolds or two, a couple of Romney's and a Winterhalter. They'd do better taking a train up to London to see the Tate."

"That's not the point." Tom said.

"People want to see a different sort of home." Mary was perched at the end of his bed. "It's not the things in it."

"How the other half lives?"

"If you want to put it like that. There's a curiosity about these places, about this way of life."

"Clarkson, what do you think?"

Clarkson, who was putting his instruments back into his bag temporally looked startled. He still wanted to work, as their private practitioner, even though he was retired. "Keeping people healthy takes a lot of money in this day and age. And we could raise more than you think."

"Robert, we're opening the house for one day, for charity, and there's an end to it." His wife assured him. "Mary and Tom made a decision."

"And I know well enough that when Mary had spoken my opinion has little matter. Does Matthew know about this decision?"

"I already discussed it and he approves. He thinks it's a marvelous idea. You don't really mind though?"

"No, but I think it's crackers."

* * *

Tom walked into the foyer as Mary was speaking on the phone.

"Do you mind if I bring another guest? Oh, you'll think of something. Alright. Bye."

"So, this is the urgent business that takes My Lady to London town?"

"It's not the only thing. Matthew's been desperate to get out. Evelyn Napier will be joining us as well."

"So it is getting serious?" It was their wise old joke between the two of them, poor Evelyn with his unrequited love.

Mary side rolled her eyes as they walked into the front room. "Dinner with Evelyn Napier at the Criterion?" She walked toward the stairs, neither of them noticing Edith on the sofa, reading a book, until she spoke.

"I used to go to the Criterion with Michael."

Mary turned her head, "Do you always have to put a damper on every restaurant in the capital?"

"As a matter of fact, I have happy memories of it." Edith announced smugly.

"Send him my wishes." Tom called to Mary as she continued up the stairs. "I hope to see him again soon."

"Oh, Evelyn?" Edith asked, "send him my love too."

Mary stopped again, this time directing to Tom, "Why don't you come with us? It'll be fun. I dare you. You haven't been anywhere in ages."

"Alright. But we can't be too long. I want to be ready for the opening."

"Oh, we'll have masses of time for that. Edith can manage a day without me."

"I can manage without you for as long as I want."

The two sisters were speaking like two old friends rather than enemies. Tom smiled to himself. He'd have to ask Matthew how he managed that while he was gone.

* * *

Violet came up to see Robert, who had spent nearly a week in bed. She entered the room after Rachel.

"It is kind of you Mama but as you can see, I'm miles better."

"It is a good sign that I hadn't been summoned in haste. Anyway I'm here and I'm glad of the chance to talk about the mad scheme of opening the house to the public."

"It's only to put money toward the new merger." Rachel stated, that it was only temporary, that it wasn't an inconvenience. It was going to go to a good cause. "It's already been fixed. Mary orginised it and I think it's a marvelous idea."

"Yes, well, even so. Should I cut a ribbon? You know when the doors are flung open? After all, I am the president of the hospital."

"I don't believe we need a ceremony." Robert said, cutting across his mother. Rachel had already told him of Clarkson's decision of wanting to replace her. He wanted to distract his mother from the topic of the hospital, and from Rachel. The expression on her face would give her away. She wasn't nearly as good at concealing her emotions as Cora had been. "The doors will be open at nine. Who'd want to be here for that?" He thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't kill me."

"No, but it might kill us. Oh well, let me know what you decided. The patients are my priority. As president I am their representative on earth. I am confident that your collapse, will have changed a lot of people's minds, about the so called reforms. I shall be unanimous in victory."

When she left Rachel let out a deep sigh, "I must give Clarkson an answer soon or your dear Mama will find out in another way." She stopped, realising the ladies maid, Baxter, was still in the room. "Will you please leave us, Baxter? This is between Lord Grantham and I."

"Of course. Will that be all, My Lady?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"That was rather high risk." Robert said as Baxter closed the door behind her.

"Not really. She won't talk." She hadn't told him of Baxter's past and she was glad that he didn't press it. "Anyway, it'll be public soon."

"I suppose you want to accept."

"I do. But not at the expense of upsetting you or your mother."

"I only worry if it's too much for you. It sounds as if Clarkson almost wants you to work there."

"Why not? I've already had one career, raising my son. He doesn't need me now he's on the other side of the ocean, and has his own life." Matthew and his family had already sort of filled that gap but it wouldn't replace her son and the grandchild she had only heard about but hadn't met. And Rose was about to have another one about the same time as Mary. It made it all the more harder. The least she could do was be useful in some way. "So I'm ready for the next."

"He'll still need you. They always still need you. But anyway, isn't it time for a rest?" Rachel was three years older than him, having been born in sixty-three, though she didn't look her age. He'd like to settle into some form of retirement with her. She was starting to sound like Isobel with her modern ideas. "You're not Isobel."

"In what way do you meant that?" Her voice was almost scolding. She hoped he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was, that she was old.

"I only mean you don't need to work."

"I don't think she needs to work either." She loves to do it and it's an outlet for her to not worry about her son. A mother to a mother, they have an understanding and common interests. "I think she wants a job. She enjoys it. So would I."

She climbed into the bed.

"That's all I needed to hear. That's what you want to do."

"I'm surprised. Ten years ago, you would have been horrified at the very thought."

"Ten years ago, I didn't think we'd survive. It's the beginning of a new era. We must find a way to accommodate whatever waves are thrown at us. It's either sink or swim."

"Does that mean you're alright with the charity tour then?" She asked rhetorically.

"I shudder. But if it helps your new job."

She smiled and gave his a peck on the cheek.

* * *

As they entered the Criterion, Evelyn greeted them at the door, guiding them through the main dinning area. Their sitting area had steps going up to it. Mary and Evelyn looked back toward Matthew.

An older gentleman came up to talk to him, a few feet away. Matthew gestured to her that she go on ahead. He hadn't yet noticed the stairs. Mary was grateful for the distraction so she could ask discreetly if they could move. "It's rather cramped up here. Why don't go someplace where it's far less crowded."

Her attempt had backfired.

"Nonsense. Everywhere else in this place is crowded."

"I don't think he can do stairs today." Mary muttered to Tom. His legs were stiff by the looks of it, how they where pulled to the side. He had tried to straighten them when he thought she wasn't looking, on their way in. It could be the rainy weather. As she looked back, they showed no sign of loosening up, and he had neglected to adjust them again.

"Couldn't we left his chair up?" He suggested.

"No. I think it would be too much..." It would be too much for him, not to mention embarrassing. She wished he no longer would feel that way.

But it was Evelyn who replied, "I think we can work something out." He turned to the rest of the group, "I know of a seating arrangement that would be more private. They don't use the dinning room during these hours. It won't draw any attention to unsavory modern topics, as our older peers so refer to as. We'd be free to speak our minds. Least there be some loose tongues tonight!" Everyone cheered (as if making a promise to his last statement of getting drunk. Some probably already were) and almost made a beeline as Evelyn showed the way. Tony was the last one to follow, nodding to Mary as he got up from his chair.

As everyone else found their new seat, Evelyn went around to introduce them all. "Lady Ann Acland, Mrs. Duper and Mrs. McVeigh."

"Ann and I shared a governess and Julia and I came out together. And Tony and I grew up together."

"What a small world." Evelyn said as pulled out a chair for her, though he didn't sound impressed. "And this is Mr. Abernathy."

Mary gave him a nod. He was a bit younger than most of the other dinner guests and a little bit nervous.

"And Miss Mabel Lane Fox, you must already know."

"Well, it's Lady Gillingham now."

"Course, I forgot." The tone Evelyn was using didn't sound pleased either. What crawled up his trousers? Mary wondered.

Tony was the last one to sit, eyeing Mary, a smile in his eyes, giving her a wink, while no one else was watching. Did he seriously just wink at her?

"Congratulations." Mary said to Mabel. What was taking Matthew so long?

"And of course, if you know Tony, you know Mr. Blake."

"Heavens, what quite a party we make!"

"A couple of singletons at our age!" Mrs. Duper said bemused.

"The rest of us are all war widows." Julia said tiredly, as if she had explained it numerous times.

"Well, I'm not a war widow." Mary replied. "Obviously." She put her hands to her stomach where her baby grew. Ann gave her a scowl. Mary hadn't meant it out of spite, but of course it had come out that way.

"Isn't that your husband over there?" Mabel asked, nodding straight ahead of her. Mary followed her gaze. From the open doors he could be seen. He was still talking to the older gentleman.

Mary didn't know why but she had a strong urge to reach across the table and punch her, claw at her, something, if she was going to say something against her husband.

"The one in the wheelchair? He's quite handsome."

"I..." It hadn't been what she'd been expecting. "Yes. He is and I'm quite lucky."

"We haven't been formally introduced last time I saw him. He's not very talkative, is he?"

She doesn't want to say that he wasn't like that before the war. She'd feel that she'd have to explain. "He is when you bring up a subject he's interest in. You can't get him to stop."

Mabel was already out of her seat.

"Why didn't you say? " Tony asked, leaning over to Mary. "We could have moved."

"I tried to..."

"There's no need to feel embarrassed." He lowered his voice.

A few moments later Mabel came back, Matthew behind her. Evelyn moved his chair over to make room for him, so that he was sitting between him and Mary.

"There he is, the man of the hour." Tony seemed genuine. "Come to join us at last."

"Sorry. I got held up."

"Who was that man you were talking to?" Mary asked, whispering to him.

"I don't know who he was but he apparently knew me."

"Matthew works in property law..." Tony continued.

"Actually, I'm thinking of branching out, exploring new boundaries. I believe all non violent offenders deserve a second chance."

There was silence.

"Yes. I think they should." Replied Mrs. Duper. "Was it easy to settle back into?"

"It wasn't too hard to. It's like second nature to me, almost like breathing."

"Didn't he manage to get one of your maids out on bond after she was accused of murderer?" Charles Blake asked Mary. Their little party grows quiet again. By his immediate response, he hadn't meant for that to be the reaction.

"Only because she was innocent." Mary stated.

"He did? How extraordinary!" Abernathy exclaimed.

"It doesn't really take much. All it requires is this." Matthew pointed to his head. "as she keeps telling me. Which I'm grateful I still have." He placed a hand on Mary's knee, then suddenly squeezed it. His lips pulled into a frown, his brow knitted together, he features furrowed.

"Anything the matter?" She asked politely as to not draw attention, that anything was amiss. She knew what that expression meant.

"I'm so sorry." His hands flew to the wheels of his chair. "To leave you so suddenly when I've just joined you. I need to excuse myself to the men's room." He started to wheel backwards.

"Do you need any help?" He halted, flushed as she asked, perhaps too loudly.

"No. I got it. Thanks." And wheeled away.

Tony leaned over to her again, asking if they could go somewhere to talk. She didn't see any harm in it. She followed him to a private sitting area that functioned as a lounge. It was closed off, only reserved for special nights when they had entertainment.

"I love you Mary. I've always been in love with you, ever since we were children."

His words were preposterous to her. It struck her out of the blue like abnormally sized hail. He couldn't be serious. She couldn't decide on weather or not to laugh. Something told her not to. Her face remained neutral.

"You don't know me, Tony. That was a lifetime ago. There's been a lot of time between then and now. I love my husband."

"I don't doubt that you don't." He didn't believe what he was hearing. He thought she was just keeping up pretenses. How can you love someone like that? Be willing to give up your life. He supposed it was because Matthew was still the heir to Downton. Tony had enjoyed talking to him, at the Point-to-Point, a few years back, almost forgetting. A charming, intelligent mind, but one needed more than just that to love. You needed the psychical body. Maybe she had forgotten that, winning her over with that charm and his good looks. He had tried to be friends with the man for Mary's sake but he kept stonewalling him, kept him from getting to know him. Perhaps it had been for the best. They had only talked about business. Carrying on with their charm and intellectual ideas, you forgot. She couldn't really be satisficed being tied down to a half life. "But it can't be easy, having to take care of him, taking up most of your time. It must be exhausting."

"It's really not." She wished that he would just shut up. She wanted to punch him but it wouldn't be polite. He did not know what he was speaking of. He was not worthy of explaining things to.

"No one would fault you. I can help take care of you and the baby and the children."

"You want me to leave Matthew and you'll leave Mabel?" She snidely scoffed.

"I'm not talking about marriage. Mabel and I have an arrangement, I get to see whoever I want and she has her weekends here in London."

Mary felt herself reeling. It wasn't the morning sickness.

"I just have one question. Are the children his?"

"Of course they're his children! How can you even suggest such a thing!"

"I wouldn't fault you, you know, if you had to lie with some blond haired stranger. A woman such as yourself isn't willing to settle for a life without children."

Mary blanched. "Matthew is more cable just as any other man! And I dare say, more so than you. George looks just like him."

"I don't doubt that George isn't. Josephine looks just like you...…"

"And Katie looks a lot like Matthew's mother." Mary rolled her eyes. Isobel had even pointed it out, on numerous occasions, boasting like grandmothers do. What was more proof than that?

"Sure."

"What more do I have to prove, Tony?" She was starting to become horrified. If he could come to that conclusion, couldn't anyone else? She knows what Matthew would say, who gives a damn what they think. "Yes, I take care of him. That's what I signed up for. And quite frankly I enjoy it. He has far better days than worse ones. I'm always there, even for the worst."

"I hate what this has done to you."

"And what has it done to me?"

"You're a former shell of yourself. The Mary I know wouldn't let her life be dictated...rely on the demands of a..."

"Don't you dare say it! What I think you're going to say!" She put her purse underneath her arm, in a huff. "You don't know who I am, if you think I would go to bed with just anyone, to even suggest that I would be unfaithful to Matthew!"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You most certainly did! Now, I'm going to get my husband and we are leaving. Goodbye!" She walked off, hearing him try to call her back in desperation. Stopping, she said to him, over her shoulder, "And for your information, I'd rather choose him any day over a man who has full function of his legs and no personality at all." As she continued on her way, her face started to crumbled, tears starting to sting her eyes. These hormones were going to kill her. But she wasn't entirely sure it was that. It's not his fault. He served and was injured doing his duty like so many others. Then why did it feel like he was the only one treated this way? They didn't know how hard it was for him and for her. She found the shell shock harder. Even though she knew what to do when he had the episodes, she still felt utterly helpless.

It wasn't just his body she had fallen in love with; or his strong muscular arms, it was his mind, even though scarred, it was his kindness that she fell in love with. The man he was now. She loved him more than ever, than the old him. At times she would forget that he was disabled, the children didn't even know he was or at least never acted like it. Because they saw their papa through their parent's eyes. There would still be questions as they got older. Just answer and be honest and they'd move on. Why couldn't adults?

She wanted to get out of here. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Pulling herself together she headed back to the table. Tom stood from his seat at the sight of her. No one else apparently noticed.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his Irish brogue more dominant. Something had happened to make her upset. He had seen her go off with Tony. He better not have done anything to hurt her.

She did not answer him, feeling like crying again. Was Tony right? Was her will weakening? No. He wasn't worth two cents listening to. She didn't even have the courage to give an excuse that it was just the morning sickness, focused on something else entirely. The empty space between Evelyn and her own empty chair, gave way to another unsettling feeling in her stomach. "Matthew hasn't come back yet?"

"No. Should I go?" Maybe he should go see if his other friend was alright, if he needed help.

"No. I will." Mary's back was already to him, picking up her pace as she headed toward the lavatories, as she heard the voices of the others.

"I do hope everything is alright." Mrs. Duper's authentic sympathetic tone carried after her. Mary shouldn't be mad at her but she was.

Followed by, "I think it's such a shame really...does seem like a nice man..."

That dreaded Ann. They had always hated each other since they were children, one of Mary's many hair pulling victims. She could imagine Tom coming to her defense.

When she came to the door she thought she heard sobbing. "Matthew?" Without a thought, she opened the door but it wouldn't open all the way.

"No. Don't!"

She saw why. He was on the floor, one hand wrapped around the bottom of the door.

"Matthew! What happened?" She was able to squeeze in.

"What do you think happened?" He asked, bitterly.

He had fallen.

"Can you get up?"

His face said no. _I wouldn't still be on the floor if I was able to. _

"Let's get away from the door." As she grabbed his stiff legs, (she felt just how stiff they were, almost like a board. It reminded her of the hideous ironing board Granny had) he used his arms to scoot himself backward. She then walked over to the left side of him, bending down, attempting to brush his hair away from his face.

"I didn't hit my head. I braced myself how they showed me." Just the way Clarkson and Sybil had taught him. "Just give it a moment."

A few moments went by but his legs were not unstiffening.

They were told that his legs could give out at any given time. That was why he couldn't ride his bike anymore or drive a car (while he still technically could, it would be reckless to do so) he would likely get into an accident. Maybe then he'd die instantly and be spared further humiliation this life brought. He swallowed the bitter thought.

This was why he needed a wheelchair when he was out, to prevent falls. He had stood up to pull up his trousers but his stiff legs could not support him, buckling underneath him and he ended up toppling over. This had never happened before. Well, his legs did give out once, the day Sybil had died. And while the stiffness wasn't new, it would never linger this long.

As the door started to open, she threw herself against it, baring all her weight. It might have looked overexaggerated but she had felt the urge to protect him. She turned the lock.

"What the devil..." A man's startled voice.

"I'm afraid it's occupied at the moment." Mary responded as polity as she could. The door shook as the restaurateur tried to get it open.

"I said it's occupied! You're going to have to wait a moment." She was becoming more anxious, more annoyed.

"For goodness sakes! This is the men's lavatory!" There was clear anger behind it. "I'm going to get the manager."

_Please do._ But at first she had to get him decent, to spare him from further embarrassment.

"I heard 'im in there too." The man was back. "Probably up to some funny business."

"Madame, I suggest you leave the lavatory at once." A second male voice that had to belong to the manager.

_Oh goodness, they think we're fooling around. _That would have been hilarious to Mary if they weren't in the situation they were in now. Mary stood to open the door but stopped suddenly, feeling Matthew's fingers around her ankle.

"No." _It'll be fine in a moment. You'll see._

"They'll be able to help." She unlocked and opened the door, just enough, so she was able to block his indecency. The manager before her, the rude customer, how ever warranted, was inclining his head around him in curiosity.

"I say, what's the meaning of all this?"

"It's my husband. He's paralyzed. He fell out of his chair."

"My goodness. I'm so sorry." The rude man apoligised. "If I had known..."

"I'll see if I can find a doctor." The manager said.

"I don't need..." Matthew started to protest.

"Yes." Mary replied. "I'll need some time to make sure he's decent first."

* * *

"I could never be tied to such reasonability." Mrs. Acland continued. "It's such a waste."

"I think you're really taking this..." Evelyn managed to get a few words out.

"I'm glad my husband was fortunate not to live." Julia said.

Tom had had it. Standing up, this time saying a few choice words that would even make his fellow Irishmen blush. "I had just about enough of this. A man fights for his country and gets blamed for it when he comes back injured. It's an insult to those who lost their lives. And you, so called men, you should be ashamed of yourselves. I think we all know who the real cowards are here. Have a not so good day, gentlemen. Evelyn." He acknowledge politely. At least he had tried to come to Matthew's defense and had also been shooting Tony daggers the whole evening. Having had enough as well, Evelyn got up to leave.

"I'll see you off." Tom kindly offered, following him to the coat retrieval booth.

"I say, just you and Matthew and I should start up our own little club." Evelyn was saying. He payed the woman at the booth as she handed him his coat and hat.

"I think you might be on to something there."

"Do you like cars, Tom? I'm not asking because you were a chauffer. Can't say most chauffer's have a true love for cars."

"You got me there. My love is genuine. I was a mechanic in Boston."

"Ah, I had forgotten that's where you've gone off to."

"Why do you ask?"

"I have a friend, Henry Talbot, he races cars for a living."

"Now you've peeked my interest! What's he like?"

"Nothing like that lot." He nods back toward the dinning room. "He's the nephew of Lady Grantham's friend, Lady Shackleton. So Mary's probably heard of him. He's testing a new car on the fifth."

"We could make a day of it. Though I'm not sure how into cars Matthew is."

Evelyn is puzzled and confused. "Aren't you two close?"

"Thing's have been different." Matthew didn't want friends, or be too close to them. That's what Matthew had said to him upon his return from Boston. It wasn't anything personal against Tom. He had lost too many friends.

"Well, we'll give it a try. We'll leave this sorry lot in the dust." Evelyn gives him a pat on the back

"I would enjoy that. Do you think he'd let me try it out?"

A man wearing only a white shirt and a nametag, came rushing into the main seating area. "Is there anyone here who's a doctor?" The man, obviously the manager was looking frantic. Sweat stained the underarms of his shirt, his face, and what little remained of his hair, shone with it. He flicked the comb over with his hand, a nervous tick.

"I am." This surprisingly from Mr. Abernathy.

Tom went palled, instantly thinking of Matthew. And here he'd been, going off at the mouth. "I think I can be of assistance."

"Just the doctor. I don't think he'd appreciate an audience."

"I'm a close friend of theirs."

The manager waved him in the direction.

Mary expected to see Tom but was surprised to see the younger man with him. "What are you doing here?"

"He's the doctor." The manager replied. Mary's glance asked him if he couldn't find anyone better. The man's expression said, sorry.

"I thought you would need a second pair of hands." Tom said. Immediately he stepped into action. "We'll grab him under his arms, Mary grab his legs." Tom then addressed the manager, while you hold the chair steady."

Matthew kept quiet as they manhandled him. It was best to say nothing. The three ring circus would be over soon.

He grunted in pain as they lifted him. Mary lifted her head, her eyes widened with worry. Their eyes locked. The pain had vanished from his face but his eyes said otherwise.

Abernathy and Tom got him successfully back into his chair. Abernathy checked his legs over, "Nothing appears to be broken. Though you might want to get it checked." He directed the last bit at Mary.

Mary sensed the annoyance on Matthew's face. She wheeled him out and into the room she and Tony had been in. It gave her a nasty chill just thinking about it. But they wouldn't be staying much longer.

She inclined her head toward Abernathy and Evelyn, who was now hovering with concern in the entrance way. "Could you two give us a moment?"

The two men left. Tom remained behind.

"Are you going to head back to the house?" He asked.

"I don't think we'll be able to tonight. We'll be staying at Aunt Rosamund's."

"I'll get a ride back with Evelyn."

"You can expect us back in the afternoon." She saw that there was disapproval on Matthew's face. He was rubbing his palm where the old scar was. A white puckered thing where he must have cut it, trying to dig his way out from underneath debris. He had a habit of touching it whenever he was in slight discomfort. Weather it was involuntary or not, she did not know.

Tom nodded and followed in the direction that the other's had went.

Matthew finally spoke, as if he'd been waiting till they all left. "That was quite embarrassing. I ended up on the floor twice in two months."

"Under two very different circumstances."

"I think we can make it back if we leave now. It would be rather redundant for your Aunt to have to put us up."

"We're going to stay at Aunt Rosamund's." She repeated, "and tomorrow morning, I'm calling a doctor. There's got to be a specialist in Harley street. I don't know why I never thought to ask before..."

"There's really no need, darling. Things will have settled by then. We still have Andy's party." He didn't want it to be ruined because of him. It only came once.

"We'll make it back in plenty of time. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

* * *

It must have been fate. Doctor Jacobson happened to be in London visiting Harley Street. Mary asked if would be any trouble if he could do a house call. He was glad to check in with his star patient. Matthew had made the most significant progress compared to most of his spinal cases, some of which hadn't lived

"Well, you seem to be in excellent health."

"Do you know what could have caused it. For them to go out. The stiffness?"

"Stress, perhaps, given that you have suffered a recent loss." Matthew nodded at his words. "Lack of exercise is another. You have been doing them?"

"Yes." _No, actually he hadn't._ "Massaging them seemed to work a bit." He picked at his trousers, thinking. But this stiffness had been more intense than missing a few days of exercise and the occasional pain had increased. He could only think of one possibility. "There is something that you should know. I've had an x-ray a few years ago, with the updated machines. They were able to detect that there's a piece of shrapnel close to my spine. Weather from the images being more clear or that it moved. Could that be what caused this?"

"Could be. It's most likely the source of your chronic pain, not just the damaged nerves. Also the scar tissue around where the shrapnel originally was, if it did move. It could have moved again and is pressing on a nerve that isn't damaged. I can order a series of x-rays."

Matthew shook his head, looking down at his palm, pressing the scar there.

"I could have it removed. It would at best relieve some of your pain but it would be risky. I highly wouldn't recommend it."

"What would be the risks?"

"Failure to successfully remove the shrapnel could leave you completely and permanently paralyzed below the waist."

"I wouldn't want to take that risk."

"I'm glad to hear it. As I've said, you're an otherwise healthy man."

He hesitated a moment, unsure how to bring it up, "There is...something else, I seem to be having a problem, with...relieving myself."

"Urinating?" That would need to be checked for. It could lead to a urinary infection. Just like any type of infection it could be deadly for him. One of the most common cause of death of paralytics, besides infection from bed sores and pneumonia. Since he was not fully paralyzed he stood a greater chance of avoiding the bed sores but that didn't mean he was any less prone to other types of infections. He was still high risk.

"No. That's definitely not a problem." He nearly flushed as he thought of the incident last night. "It's the other..." He scratched the back of his head. "I haven't had a bowel movement in almost a week."

"That could do it. If you got a blockage somewhere, that can make your legs stiff."

"I didn't know that."

"In a few days if nothing happens, I'd like you to schedule an enema."

It meant to be an internal groan but it escaped from his lips.

"I know you used to have them. They are unpleasant but necessary."

"If it isn't that and it continues, is there's anything that can be done?"

"No. Other than keep doing what you're doing, exercise and trying to keep stress to a minimum. Other than that I can do nothing." The doctor's mood had suddenly changed, unsympathetic, which was unlike Jacobson.

Matthew leaned back in the bed, his head against the pillows, he let out a breath.

"For the pain I can prescribe some medications."

He was quick to answer. "No thanks." He had heard stories about ex-soldiers becoming addicted to opioids. And after the Absinth he had Thomas smuggle for him, he vowed not to touch drugs again. Not even for pain unless it ever became unbearable. They made your mind feel foggy. He wanted his mind to stay sharp, whatever was left of it. He had lost a lot of time already with Mary. He didn't want to miss out on his children's big moments. What good was a father if he had to be suppressed and subdued, always in a drug induced fog. He had let Clarkson give him the sedative only because he didn't have a say in it. He was still a bit angry at him for that.

"Is there anything else that you would like to discuss?"

"It's not necessarily about me. My wife doesn't want any more children after this one. She's been talking about this new procedure."

"If you're asking me if she discussed it with me, I can't disclose that. Doctor, patient confidentiality, even if she is your wife. Same goes for a solicitor and his client." He playfully tapped Matthew's arm with his file. "Am I right?"

"Yes." Matthew smiled at the doctor's good humour. Up until then he had been given the cold hard facts, like any other doctor. "But I'm not asking that. I'm asking about the surgery, how safe it is."

"Generally safe. But a hysterectomy isn't like the equivalent of the male procedure. It can't be reversed."

He was glad that he didn't have to go through the dreaded enema, which he had hoped would be a staple of his past that would be forgotten. Not what he would have looked forward to on his birthday. His son's birthday. The family would have a nice rich luncheon then in the afternoon, they would have light finger sandwiches and cake for the guests. The servants were out in the warm spring day, finishing up the last touches.

He went to lie down after the luncheon to take a nap. He would need it, with the days events. A half hour later before the party was to start, Mary came to wake him up.

"How are your legs?"

His legs weren't stiff anymore but they still felt a little uncomfortable. "Felt" being used loosely, he couldn't feel but could feel the sensation. It was still hard to move them. "Better."

"Did Jacobson say what it was?"

"Seems I was just a little blocked. All that rich food seemed to do the trick." An unpleasant experience that he was still unable to avoid. He had to be helped being changed. His legs still being hard to move, he had Bates do it this time. He would still not have Mary do it. She had witnessed a few such accidents before they were married, in the early days. She had told him that he shouldn't be embarrassed over something which he had no control.

He agreed, well, now.

_No one should feel ashamed of having such issues because it cannot be helped. _

"That's all it was?"

He nodded. "And the exercises helped." He wasn't telling her everything, it would potentially start an argument (telling her about the shrapnel and about the chronic pain) over her wanting to mother hen him. "Looks like I'll need to use the chair for the rest of the day though."

"That won't be a problem." She bent over to kiss his cheek. She was already doing it.

There was enough he had to worry about. Today is also a reminder, that she's not here. He shouldn't be in such a sour mood. It was a nice sunny day, he wasn't in any pain, other than the discomfort. To be out in the warm sunshine, surrounded by the ones he loved as they celebrated their son's special day. A day that only came once. He had a lot to look forward to today.

They go out into the warm air. The weather would probably change to cooler in the next few weeks, as they were bound to have a bout of rain. Today there was no dark clouds in the sky. It was a perfect day.

Mary looked over to where Matthew is, sitting in his chair in the shade. He was enjoying himself, engaging more with the children than the adults. She smiled to herself as she helped herself to a piece of cake, watching him comfort their youngest. Well, soon to be big brother. Andy had started to cry when Katie tried to introduce him to the pony. Rose still had managed to rent it. Leave it to her to make a grand entrance without showing up.

Beside that brilliant mind of his, it was his fatherly side, his kindness that she loved about him so much. Now Andy was curled up on his on chest, tears staining his shirt, beginning to dry, sucking on his thumb. His eye lids fluttering open and closed as if they weighed a tone, struggling to keep them open, not wanting to miss all the excitement. Until finally he lost.

His white-blonde wispy locks were starting to stick to his small little head. Matthew's shoulder must be drenched with tears and sweat by now but he didn't mind. For a brief moment, he looks as if he is about to go away. Then he smiles down sweetly at his son.

* * *

"I don't think surgery is necessary unless it will save someone's life or improves one's quality of life." Matthew said at dinner, candidly referring Mary's idea of her hysterotomy, but also referring to the surgery to remove the shrapnel, that would be too much of a risk. He hadn't told Mary or anyone about it. He'd rather deal with the chronic pain the rest of his life than a lifetime of permanently being paralyzed, he had already lived through that once. This surgery she was requesting on could also be a risk for her, all surgery was, this procedure was relatively new. He wanted her to rethink her options.

His mother over heard the conversation. "I think surgery should be used to improve one's life. There's a lot of new advances in the area of plastic surgery, thanks to the war. It can used for those you've been disfigured by accidents. And it gives soldiers more freedom than wearing those uncomfortable masks."

Edith discussed the artist that made them. That it was truly an art form within itself.

Robert hurriedly changed the morbid topic, asking Matthew how he's feeling. What he thought about how the party went.

"Well. You know, I quite enjoyed it, not everyday a young lad turns one, as for the other part..."

"The big four-two!" Robert raised his glass, wishing him a happy birthday also.

Everything else seemed to go by in a muted rush. Even Mary's voice when she was the last to leave the dinning room. He said he'd be up shortly.

It was inevitable to keep it from the children, the shell shock. George had almost seen it.

Josephine had seen him. At the dining table, after everyone else was finished. He was the only one left. Or so he had thought. He didn't know what had triggered it this time. His mother's mention of the war or the reminder of how much time on this earth he might or may not have or maybe when he had dropped his fork, or thinking too much.

Josephine had been hiding under the table, not just from her siblings but she often liked to listen to the adult conversations. It was his birthday too and she wanted to surprise him, to cheer him up. A fork had fallen onto the floor. She picked it up and tapped his shoe with it. It didn't get his attention.

_He can't feel it._ She remembers. She would have to try something else. _Oh I know! _

She climbed between the table and his legs. She looked straight into his eyes, smiling.

"Papa!" She made a jumping motion, shouting his name with much surprise as she could. It didn't startle him. He just sat there.

She was still smiling, until she noticed something. Her smile fell. There was something wrong with his eyes. There was no spark in his eyes that'd she always known to be there. It was like he was asleep but his eyes were open. Daydreaming, the tutor accused Katie of, Josephine had always defended her sister, not in front of her sister of course. Maybe if she said his name again he would wake up.

"Papa?"

He didn't.

"Papa." She put her hands to his face, and said his name again. That simply seemed to do the trick. He slowly began to wake.

"Do you want me to get Mama?"

"No! Don't get your mother." He gently took hold of her hands. "It'll be our little secret."

"I like secrets!" No one ever told her a secret before. Her hiding under the table because she wasn't supposed to be, ok. She would probably get scolded by Mama. She liked her Papa more. He was more kind. And let her do her own things. She was his princess. And he was the King. And the princess only listened to what the King had to say. A King could be all strong and powerful but sometimes even a King can get scared. "It was just a nightmare, Papa. Nightmares can't hurt you."

_Oh, my dear sweet, Josephine. Yes, they can._

George had seen it, that very same evening, though he'd forget it till years later. The servants were outside, cleaning up after the party. There was suddenly a loud bang. A balloon must have popped. He grabbed hold of George and told him to hide, grabbing his hand, telling him to get under the table. They wouldn't be seen.

"Who?"

"The Germans."

Five year old George liked this new game.

As the anxiety heightens, he knows he's not thinking rationally. He takes a deep breath, breathing slowly. He comes back to his own mind, regaining control. Crawling out from under the table he makes his way over to the couch, pulling himself up on his knees. That's all he is able to do. But he was determined to try to do more.

"Daddy, do you need help?"

"No. I can do it." He uses his arms to pull himself up, getting his hip and his thigh onto the sofa. He then used his arms to heave himself further onto it, staring to breath heavily. The attempt causes him to fall sideways, thankfully not backwards, his head coming to rest against the back of it. He turns his torso, he brings his legs up and lays back, his head sinking into the array of pillows. That's all he remembers for a few minutes.

George comes over to check if he is ok. It must have been really hard. He wants to show his daddy that he is proud but doesn't seem to know he is there. His eyes are cloudy like a glass on a foggy day, that he and his siblings would blow breath on. Sensing that can't be right, he runs to get someone, remembering what Mummy had said. If he fell asleep with his eyes open, he should get someone. As he turns the corner from the library, he runs straight into her, putting his arms around her waist.

"What's wrong, moppet?" It had become her little nickname for him.

"Daddy. We were playing soldier. He made it up onto the sofa, but he got tired and he fell asleep with his eyes open."

His mother ran straight for the library door. She fears he had had an episode, or he's died. _No, don't think that._ She didn't want to think the latter or the former. She was greeted by that familiar blank stare that she wished she could forget and never see again.

"Matthew. Darling?" He doesn't stir, nor when she sits next to him, grabbing his hand. "Please...please, don't do this. Not now. Please, come back to me, darling."

He finally stirred. Tears glistened down his face. "I...I failed you..." He felt beyond a disappointment to her. He was weak, too damaged. He had failed her. Failed them.

"No. The most important thing to understand is that you have an illness."

"It will always be part of me."

"We managed it before, we can manage it again." She held his hand tightly now.

_But we didn't have children._ He thinks. _There's no cut and dry formula of dealing with it or "getting rid of it" I have come an enormously long way from where I started. However, there was always a part of me that knew I could backslide, maybe get worse. I had help back then, I would think it unfair to demand that of me again, so I must do this for myself, for my children, and no one else._

_Is there a cure? I don't think so, because once "It "gets into you. 'It' will always be with you." You cannot physically cut it out or burn it like a cancer, make it not exist anymore. No. _

He refuses to give into that darkness.

_But you can abide with it, learn to live with it, and manage it. You can be better because of it, or despite it. And hopefully, one day, rather than being a huge looming black hole in your existence, it will become a tiny black speck on the horizon._

"Is daddy ill?" George asked. He had come back in the room. Robert and Edith were in the doorway.

"Yes. Now get out of here." As soon as Mary saw them, something in her snapped, "Someone get him out of here!"

Matthew squeezed her hand. "No. I want my son. I need my son."

"Let's get you up to bed first."

The rest of the children, jealous that George got to be in bed with their father, joined them, surrounding him. They ended up falling asleep, taking up most of the bed. George was the only one still awake. He made his way across the bed, his face hovering over his father's. His eyes looked sad and frightened.

"You don't need to be afraid anymore." He whispered, to not wake the others. "They weren't real." When he didn't reply, George sighed, trying one more time, touching his face gently, "I'll protect you, daddy." He gave his father a hug and lied close to him.

Mary smiled graciously, taking in the scene. They had been wrong to keep them away. He had needed his children to heal. He didn't have anymore episodes after that. The next few days since then, none of the children asked about it, (they probably were too young to have noticed or hadn't seen) and George had seemed to forgotten the whole ordeal. _Children can block things out too._ It was a good thing, Mary decided. When things resume as they should, it's easy for them to forget. Life goes on.

* * *

The showing of the house went off without a hitch at first. It was rather pathetic, Mary thought, with how little they knew about their family history, stumbling over questions they didn't know the answers to. Papa was still resting up in bed so he was of no help. He would probably have a heart attack if he had to see a group of people gawking at his things.

Nor did they know anything about the paintings, if they were of their actual ancestors of subjects of the artists painting. Matthew would probably know but he was laid up in bed as well. He had told her that he was feeling rather tired today.

They had to get by, second guessing, grasping at straws, it felt like to Mary. They were saved by Rachel who showed them the Russian artifacts, temporarily from the humiliation. There were still a line of people waiting outside to see the great castle.

A woman asked why the crests above the fireplace in the front room were blank.

"That's very interesting." Mary clasped her hands together. "Actually, I have no idea why."

As she continued to speak to Mary, a little boy observed them. Bored, he saw the opportunity to sneak off, ducking underneath the velvet rope blocking the staires.

Matthew opened his eyes to see a young boy, standing beside him. At first he thought it was George but the hair was the wrong colour and he was a little older.

He sat up quickly, startling the boy. Then he froze, studying him as if to determine if he was a threat or if he was going to get into trouble. The child's posture then relaxed, deciding that he had no reason to be afraid.

"What are you doing in bed? You're not old."

Matthew couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. "No. But sometimes I need to rest my legs. It's an old war injury."

"The war was a very long time ago. That's what my mum says."

"Well, she's not wrong. But somethings take a long time to heal." As he examined the boy, he read the expression in his eyes. It was one of understanding. An expression that shouldn't be there. Maybe his father or an uncle had been in the war.

The boy's head went down, playing with the carpet with his feet, before he brought it up again. "My brother was in the war. He was hurt in the head."

Matthew's heart swelled with sympathy, going out to the boy, weather he meant a psychical or an invisible one like his own.

"Sometimes he has nightmares and shouts and screams. It's very scary sometimes. "

"It gets better sometimes." The lad puts his head down again. Matthew tries to get his attention, to divert from the subject. "What's your name?"

"George."

"I have a son named George."

"Really?" His head shot up. His eyes sparked with interest. Though George was a very common name.

The door opened and Molesley entered. Startled to see a young boy standing before him. The boy, frightened, backed up almost knocking into something. The valet looked from Matthew and back to the boy. "What are you doing in here?"

Regaining his courage he said, "Wouldn't you like to know?" and took off, doing a runner.

"Cheeky rascal." Molesley made a move to go after him.

"No need for that, Molesley. Let him be."

"Shouldn't we turn out his pockets?"

"No. He was more of a philosopher than a thief."

* * *

Matthew eventually came down, coming to the rescue. Mary was surprised with how much he knew. Starting with the front room.

"This room is entirely medieval. It was the Monk's rectory of an Abbey that King Henry sold after the dissolution on monasteries. Most of the paintings are Reynolds. Some of them we had to sell during the war."

He was apparently nervous at first, so were some of the guests. Then, out of nowhere, Mary saw a boy came rushing over to him.

"You came down!"

Matthew apparently knew the boy somehow. "I did. Let's just say I had a little inspiration."

"Can you walk?" The boy finally took notice of the wheelchair.

The boy's mother, a few feet away look horrified, she set down her glass and made to step toward them. "I'm so sorry."

But Matthew put up his hand, determining it was ok. "Yes. I can. But not very far. I need this to get around this big old place sometimes."

"Are you in pain?"

"Always." He was glad to feel it. Grateful that it was a reminder, for his actions in the war, that he was still human, and not just for the physical pain. He had made the mistake of trying to escape, repress, or otherwise banish the mental pain._ But avoidance does not erase the pain; rather, avoidance just stores it for another day._ And he had stored it to try and prevent the episodes from happening but in doing so it had nearly destroyed him.

"Can you run?"

"No." He gave a faint smile. A fact that still saddened him a bit. Running gave a sense of freedom. He'd never run with his children, or get to them in time if they were in any danger, a fact he still feared in that back of his mind. He was reminded of Sybil. He didn't exactly blame himself anymore, but it was still there.

"Why don't you get a place that is smaller and cozy?"

He smiled again, this time at how inquisitive the boy was, not at all bothered by his questions while his mother obviously was and appeared to be pondering a way to put a stop to it but said nothing as she slightly fidgeted. He'd rather she say nothing. A parents reaction to a situation impacted the child's views, telling them not to ask questions or talk to people like him, encouraged that there was something wrong about associating with people who are 'different' He didn't really have an answer for the boy other than, "It'll be harder for me to get around. I can get around here faster with this." He gripped the wheels and spun them.

"Cool!" He watched them go round with fascination. George, Josephine and Katie gathered around, all chattering at once.

The parents and other members of the group seemed to become comfortable as they witnessed the children interacting. They followed him to the next room. He flashed Mary a smile as he wheeled by. She smiled too, loving to see him confident.

They moved on to the drawing room, where Edith had painfully tried to describe a painting, hanging above the fireplace. It depicted four children with a dog.

Someone asked about it again, "What about this portrait?"

"That's the second Earl of Grantham as boy, on the top right there. And the youngest boy on the right below him is their youngest brother, my great great grandfather, Paris Crawley. And on the top right and their older sister, Sarah. Below her, their brother Robert."

"Are their more paintings of the family?" A man asked.

"Most of the paintings were burned in a fire. I think only two were saved." They moved on to the library. "The one you just saw, and this one." He addressed the picture on the back wall. "The boy in the picture is the grandfather of the first Earl. This library was assembled by the fourth Earl. He loved to collect books and so did his father." He stopped, lost at what to say next, when Violet entered the room. "Ah, Cousin Violet, can you tell us what else the third Earl was a collector of?"

"He liked to collect fast horses and loose women." This prompted laughter from the group. It wasn't clear if she was actually joking. It was apparent that she was in a rush. "Have you seen Rachel anywhere? I really must have a word with her." Without an answer, she bustled from the room.

As the second group was coming through, starting with the front room again, Matthew was discussing the artwork. "the third Earl brought back with him a Della Francesca from France during the Bastilles. Well, his mother ordered him to come home because she was worried about the fighting. He had it sent ahead of him."

"Does the family still have it?"

"No. It was sold a few years ago. The third Earl was always taking heroic risks. He saved the two family portraits during the fire, along with the Della of course, after he went back in. Or originally the story goes, he wasn't going to go back but the children begged him to, to save the dog."

"Did the dog survive?" A little girl asked, eyes wide with worry.

"I'm not sure. But the Earl didn't. He died a few days later. Some of the house was added onto later. That's why there's no evident fire damage. Which brings us to, this fireplace. This was his original design but it was incomplete."

"Hence why the crests are blank." A man pointed out.

"Correct. The family just didn't have the heart to finish it."

"DID YOU KNOW WHEN I WAS LAST HERE?" A familiar voice boomed.

Matthew and the group turned their heads to see the Dowager Countess storm into the room after Rachel, almost hot on her heels. Rachel looked desperate to get away.

"Did you know when I was last here?" Violet repeated.

Rachel sighed, coming to a stop before the fireplace.

"And you let me babble on about my victory? I suppose you have already spoken to Robert about this?" Off Rachel's immediate expression, Violet appeared about to go into shock. She hadn't been expecting her guess to be correct.

"Cousin Violet, perhaps you ought to sit down." Matthew suggested to her.

"I'll sit when I'm dead. Which she probably hopes will be soon. Just quiet." She said to the on lookers. Rachel was almost out of the room by now._ Great you distracted me, now she's getting away._ "Excuse me." She pressed her way through the rest of the group.

Molesley, hardly able to contain himself, having observed the whole debacle from the other side of the room, nearly raced back downstairs, wanting to tell anyone he came across.

Baxter was ascending them as he came down. "I'm going up to see if her ladyship needs anything."

"She's going to need a glass of water and a fan if you heard what I just heard." He was laughing. She wasn't. Normally she would. "What is it?"

"I got a letter from Coyle." Peter Coyle, just hearing the name made his skin crawl, the man that had framed her for stealing. Getting her to steal her previous Ladyship's jewels by promising her a life with him, a life of riches. Then he had stood her up and let her take the fall. It turned out that she wasn't the first, but the first in a long line. He was doing it to other naïve, impressionable young women. The constable wanted her to testify against him. She agreed, with Mr. Matthew's help of course. Though he didn't to criminal law, he had helped Anna make bail when she was wrongfully accused of Greene's death. Baxter found it a relief when she didn't have to take the stand to testify against Coyle.

_"Someone had showed him the list of witnesses. He saw my name and pleaded guilty." She had told him._

_"Who was it?" Molelsey had not only been curious but he wanted to personally thank this stranger._

_"I can't say. I don't want to get them into trouble."_

_"It was Mr. Matthew, wasn't it?"_

She hadn't needed to say anymore.

"What? You didn't open it. If he's harassing you, we can go to Mr. Matthew..."

"No. I don't want to bother him anymore with this." It would be jeopardising. "It's not that. He want's me to visit him in prison."

"Well don't. Don't even answer it. Ignore it completely. Throw it in the fire if you must." He made a motion with his hand before grabbing hers, "Don't give him anymore ammunition to harm you. He's not worth..."

They were interrupted by Mr. Carson. "Mr. Molesley? There's no one on duty in the library."

"Right away, Mr. Carson." He asked Daisy to cover for him and retreated back up the stairs not before snatching a biscuit. He was going to need it.

* * *

"My son's wife!" The Dowager Countess was fuming while her son lay comfortably in his bed. "That I have come to treat like a daughter. That she could connive at my humiliation, should revel as I am cast into the dust. I was starting to like her a great deal better than Cora but now..."

"Study the buffs. This has nothing to do with Cora and you know. You just don't like it. And Rachel has doesn't control this anymore than you do. You both have different opinions but neither of you made this happen."

"If only Mr. Chamberlin had spoken..."

"He was never going to say a word. The officialdom doesn't listen to us anymore. Our influence is finished."

"You can say that, whose very life has been saved."

"You know a great deal that the way of handling emergencies will be effected. Do be logical."

"I am sick and tired of logic. If I could choose between logic and principle, I'd choose principle every time! Just tell Rachel I do not wish to see her face. Until I can get used to having a traitor in the family."

* * *

"All from the sale tickets?" Robert was astounded at the revenue they had brought in for the hospital. They were all gathered in his dressing room. He was sitting on a chaise, wrapped up in a duvet.

Matthew was up on his feet after sitting in his chair for hours. He felt sympathy for Robert. He'd hate to have to be in his position right now, bundled up like that.

"It's a great deal of money." Tom said. He and Matthew were pouring themselves drinks.

"I don't suppose we could open the house on a regular basis." Matthew said.

"For charity, you mean?" Robert asked, hoping that's what he meant.

"No. I meant for us."

"I think that's a great idea." Tom agreed. "The house does cost a lot to run these days. At the moment it doesn't have a penny to wash it's face."

"Tell me you're not being serious." Robert glanced between the two of then, pondering if they had planned this ambush. No. They wouldn't have had time, with Matthew being laid up as well. "To charge people money so people can come and snoop around our home? What a revolving suggestion."

"You can't deny an opportunity to turn a prophet." It was just like his father in-law, Tom thought, to turn up his noise at an opportunity if he didn't believe it dignified.

"Alright," Matthew said at the silence, but there may come a day when we simply can't ignore it."

"Hopefully when I am dust." Robert was still scoffing at the idea.

"It is rather a frightful thought." Edith said. "And not to mention how little we know about our family history. Matthew knew a great deal more, but we couldn't continue to put it all on him."

"Now, Edith, I did take some pride in it. It wasn't too bad of a problem. But I think you're right. We could have someone educate a group of individuals, so we wouldn't have to show the house ourselves. People are curious about how we live here."

"Which is sad in a way. Because it means that our way of like is something strange, to gawk at, like some museum exhibit or a fat lady at a circus. Like some extinct animal. In a way it's saying our way of life is going extinct."

"I can see where the museum comparison to our advantage. The village can learn of our history, that way we can keep it alive."

"I suppose it will happen someday." Rachel said, but I hope we can stay as long as we can."

"Would you all stop with this doom and gloom?" Mary was nearly exasperated. "We had a successful day. George and I are made of stronger stuff than the lot of you. At least I won't give up as easily if it comes to that, while I'm still alive."

"That, I'm sure is quite true." Her father chuckled, agreeing.

"And we are not going anywhere."

"You did marvelous today, darling. Coming to our rescue. With little of our family history we know. At least I knew that girl in that portrait was actually a boy." Mary climbed into the bed next to her husband. His mind was elsewhere. Lightly she touched his face to get his attention. "How did you know all that?"

"What do you think I was doing that year and a half? I did a lot of reading." He scooted himself down so he was in a laying position. Leaning over, holding her hand in a way that their fingers intertwined, he gave her a kiss goodnight.


	26. Epilogue: June 1927

_5th June, 1927_

Mary, Tom, and Matthew joined Evelyn to watch Henry Talbot test run his new car, along with a few members of his racing team. It was on a vacant road, far but not too far from civilization. They watched on the shoulder.

As Henry approached her, she recognised him as one of the shooters from grouse hunt they had had a few years ago. She felt ashamed that she immediately recognised him and hadn't Mrs. Harding. Well, with Mrs. Harding it had been over ten years since she had last laid eyes on her. People can look different in that amount of time. Some took sooner than others. But how could she forget? Her remark about Matthew used to being a good shot before the end of the war had led to a misunderstanding. If he had any sense he wouldn't bring it up.

"They didn't say that the nephew was you."

"Is that what I'm referred to as, just the nephew?"

She asked him, "How can you stand that noise?"

"You get used to it. I don't think poor Evelyn ever will." They both nearly laughed at the sight on him, hands still covering his ears. His voice was still raised, seconds after the other test drives stopped their engines.

"How is it that you know Evelyn?" She asked, curious.

"He's a family friend."

"It IS a small world we live in."

"Who says that?"

"Evelyn, apparently."

"He says today is your anniversary. I can imagine it's not how you expected to celebrate."

"We celebrated it early." She puts a hand on her stomach.

"Congratulations." He gave a chuckle to conceal his nervousness. It was not a topic most unmarried men were comfortable talking about. "Evelyn didn't mention that he was..."

"In a wheelchair? "

"Coming."

Mary didn't want to be quick to appologise for her assumption. She didn't know him. She had expected that she'd know how Tony would be as an adult. Look how that had turned out. She had come up with telling him that there had been too much time to really know each other on the spot, to put him off.

"It doesn't put you off?"

"No!" He was immediately appalled and sympathetic for the things she must have gone through, putting up with people who treated them differently. He understood. "I have a friend who's in a wheelchair. Charlie Rogers. He used to race along side me. He injured his back in a racing accident."

"And that doesn't put you off them?"

"Far from it. You'd think I would see cars as my enemy but I think of them as my friend. He has a wife. Charlotte. We call her Chuck."

"How very interesting."

"Maybe you could join us for dinner sometime."

"Maybe. We'll have to see." She took a few side steps to distance herself, so that she wasn't standing too close to him. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression. She didn't want another Tony fiasco. Why did men think they could hit on her just because Matthew was in a wheelchair?

He noticed that she was walling herself off. _She thinks I'm trying to come on to her. _He had a lot of friends who were female and he preferred it that way, whom most of which had crushes on him and he tried to avoid. He was able to ward off their advances. He had poured more blood, sweat and tears into cars than he had into any relationship._ Cars didn't hurt you, unless you were being reckless with them. _He had seen many of his friends hurt by getting involved with high society women. He could sense that she was different somehow. He believed that men and women could be friends without temptation of romantic involvement. He would have to show her sometime. But of course he wouldn't tell her all that. They had only just met. Neither did it seem fair to lay it all on her at one, when she was obviously dealing with something. Matthew had been in a wheelchair for ten years but that didn't mean it would get any easier, with other people's negative views. He didn't bring up the faux pau he had made at their first encounter, assuming that her husband was dead. He suppose many felt that way. He had. Not just the men who had fought themselves but the women, the nurses, the ambulance drivers, the wives at home, who's husbands came back for ever changed, psychically and or mentally scared. It was only when he was behind the wheel on the open road, or talking about cars, that he felt alive again.

It was best not to mention it. She was obviously going through something. And they hardly knew each other, still he was curious.

"You're a bit stand offish, aren't you?" He asked, clearly amused.

"Am I? Sorry. I recently had the misfortune of a childhood friend trying to hit on me. With my husband within the same vicinity."

"That tenacious prick." He muttered under his breath.

"You certainty have a mouth on you. You'd fit right in with Tom." She turned her attention toward her brother in-law who was examining Henry's car, Matthew trying to pretend he was interested.

* * *

"I'm not all that interested in the mechanics." Matthew said as they entered their bedroom, wheeling himself in behind her. "But I would have loved to test run one of them myself."

"I bet you would!" She smiled, unclasping her necklace and setting it on the vanity. His present mood as of late had been enlightening and welcoming. None of those dark thoughts had returned, the nightmares or episodes. It was as if they were back to how things were before, that none of it had ever happened, apart from his physical injury being a reminder. He had come to cope with it much easier than he had the shell shock, that now had gone away all together. But it will never really. It would always be there. It could come back in the matter of months, years, but they could manage it better. Avoid stress to prevent their recurrence and accept the man that he was now. In truth she loved the man he had become more than the man he had been. She had let her old Matthew go.

Now she could help focus more on his psychical needs._ Not that. But that too._ She loved taking care of him, though he'd still get frustrated over it, helping him change clothes, (often a long and tiring task for him because he could not stand and change at the same time, and yet still determined to do it himself. It was easier for him to put on and take off his pajamas because there weren't so many layers and he could do it much quicker, almost with record speed), helping him in and out of the bath. It had strengthened their bond. She had a guilty pleasure of being grateful that it put a limit on the reckless streak he still had.

"But secretly, I'm glad that you're unable to. It doesn't pay to be reckless." She sat down to take off her earrings.

"But where's the fun in that?" He asked it in a way that was reminiscent of a child asking why he couldn't have a second round of biscuits. "If you can't be reckless sometimes?" He could see that she was scowling from her reflection in the mirror. "I only jest. You can thank the third Earl for that. I am a Crawley after all."

"I'm not sure that would be something to boast about." The third Earl paled in comparison to Matthew's character. He had been often unfaithful to his wife, a behavior some great families still participated in. She wouldn't be surprised if there were Crawley's in existence that were born on the wrong side of the sheets. But it was never discussed or brought into question. Someone had buried it well.

"With trained precision like Henry has..."

"Speaking of Henry, he wants to invite us to dinner with one of his race car friends and his wife. Well he doesn't race anymore. He injured his back. I think it happened rather recently."

"I see."

"I think it would be a good idea, to get to know another couple who know what we've been through. Maybe even give them some encouragement. It would help as well."

"Yes, I think it would!" He was looking forward to it. He could help someone else and get to know someone else like him, a couple like him and Mary and provide some insight. It wouldn't make up for some of the things he'd done, but it would be a way of giving back. If he was back in his shoes, he wished there would be someone like him that was there to help, not just support from loved ones, someone who was going through, had been going through the same thing.

"And you're always saying that we should get out more." The light in the room had dimmed from the changing position of the sun. She should adjust the curtains to brighten the room.

"Evelyn and Tom as well?"

"Just us."

"You know, I think he and Tony would get on." Mary froze at his name, as she went over to the window. He hadn't seen it. He was deep in thought and she was turned away from him. "Maybe we should ask him to come along next time, introduce them. We haven't seen him in a while. I suppose married life is keeping him busy."

_Ha! That's a complete joke. _She tried to put humour into the situation but it brought back the awfulness of it, the feelings she had felt that night.

He saw all colour drain from her face.

"What is it?" He wheeled over to her as she went to sit down on the bed, slowly sinking down onto it.

"You know when you think you may know someone but it turns out you don't really know them at all?"

"Yes." Her eyes were already watering. He wanted to take her into his arms, without an answer, comfort her. But he had a sense that she needed to tell him. He wanted to take away whatever was agonising his beloved. He wanted to somehow make it go away, make it right. _Tell me what I can do. _He got out of his chair and sat beside her. It was about damn time anyway. He'd been sitting in it nearly all day.

She told him what happened.

"Well, I say good riddance."

It couldn't be over, just like that, him just accepting it, without all the facts. She could neglect to tell him the rest, but the basis of marriage was honesty and trust, and communication. It would do no favors keeping him in the dark. It would weigh on her conscience just as sure as he had never told her about the secret part of him, the man he'd been while fighting in battle.

"He asked if the children were yours. You believe that..."

She was horrified and guilty. He read it there. There was no reason for her to feel that. She shouldn't. "Of course I believe it. My darling, what would ever make you think that? I don't doubt..."

"Could you not say that word? He used it a lot." She said it angrily, slamming her fist down against the box spring, but he knew her true emotions.

"I would never believe that you'd be unfaithful." He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.

"But you..." He took out his handkerchief, handing it to her. She just balled it up into her fist. "You said once, after our honeymoon, that you wouldn't fault me if I were to..."seek my attentions elsewhere", as you put it." Could he really blindly accept that she couldn't have acted on it, even after she said that she would never? She asked herself.

"Darling, I was depressed. I wasn't myself." There was still a slight decisiveness, a indecision in her. He knows there must be a million thoughts going through her head. She would always give herself a mental beating, even if the truth eliminated her fault. He was the same. He had to remind her. "Didn't you know? You ought not to pay attention to the things I say."

"hmm, stiff upper lip."

"Yours look gorgeous to me right about now." He put his arms around her again and they fell back against the mattress.

He joined her in the nursery the next morning, after their breakfast in bed. The children already had the room a mess with their toys. George, as always, cleared a path for him, but he was more gentler and mindful about it this time. Matthew sat down in the lounge chair with his feet up on the footstool.

Katie had strangely developed a tickling phase.

"At least she isn't going through a hair pulling or biting phase." Mary said to her husband. None of them had. They both watched Katie with her little performance, crawling on the floor, following Andy around. He rolled over, going into a giggling fit as she tickled his tummy. Then she turned her focus on following George.

"You're not going to tickle me." He said, trying to get away.

She came to a stop next to her father. She sat down on the floor beside him, beside the footstool. His feet dangling over it, she saw the opportunity. She had not tried it on her papa. She grabbed his foot and ran her fingers against it. She tried to show little brother Andy how to do it.

"Daddy's feet don't tickle." She discovered. She gave up her efforts, sounding a bit disappointed.

"No. They don't." Matthew smiled. He didn't have the need to say that it was because he couldn't feel it. He didn't care. His feet had never been ticklish, even before. All that matter was that he could feel their love.

Andy then took hold of his father's foot and chomped down on it. Maybe she spoke too soon. Matthew didn't even jump, as one would expect. Mary's first instinct was to run over, shouting, "No, we do not bite Papa's foot."

It startled the one year old. His eyes wide with surprise, started to bawl.

"Really, Mama? Did you need to make him cry?" Josephine asked, giving attitude.

"Just take your brother. Entertain him for a moment while I check Papa's foot."

His older sister took her younger brother's hand. "C'mon, And. Let's go find Tene."

"It's alright. No need to shout at them, darling. I think he may be cutting more teeth."

"That might be so but we'll need to break him of it before it becomes a habit." She said, checking his foot over.

"See, it didn't even break the skin."

"Still, we'll need to be careful."

"I know. I know." He smiled, laughing to himself. "You're always telling me."

* * *

Mary had been up in arms against going to the dinner. He asked her the precise thing about it.

"Why are you being so up in arms about it?" He had talked to Henry on the phone, just on a get to know bases. He had told him that he had already given the time and the name of the restaurant to Mary. He did seem like a nice chap. He would have to heed the same advice that he had given Tom. Or perhaps, maybe it wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like there was going to be a war again anytime soon. He should try to patch things up with his brother in-law first.

"Henry made reservations at the Criterion." Mary said.

"We shouldn't let one bad memory of a place spoil the fun." Was Matthew's response.

And so it was decided that they would accompany Henry, with his friend Charlie and his wife, Charlotte or 'Chuck" as she was affectionately called and actually preferred it. Some preferred to call her by her given name. It highly agitated her.

"As if there's a rule that women have to have a feminine sounding name."

"Our daughter likes to be called Jo."

Chuck approved. Mary already liked her and saw that it would be quite easy for them to become friends. She never had a female friend to confide in before. Sybil had been her only female confidant.

Her new friend asked about how she and Matthew had met and what it was like to live in a big house like Downton.

"How did you meet your husband? I heard you live in one of those great houses, in Yorkshire? I've always been fascinated by that way of life."

Mary tried to make it short and to the point as possible. "I was engaged to be married to someone else that was to be heir. He died in the sinking of the Titanic. Well, we thought he died. He was presumed dead till Matthew came across him in the war, that's how he actually died. Papa had to find a new heir when we thought Patrick was dead from the sinking. Then he found Matthew. We were almost engaged before he went off to war. He didn't actually propose till 1916." She made a slight lie but she didn't need to know that. "The following year, he injured his back. He was fully paralyzed for a while. He was misdiagnosed until the swelling went down. He was able to regain some sensation and mobility back."

"You must have been so relieved."

Mary helped herself to another serving. "As for living in a great house, I supposed it's as comfy as one can get. So, what's your story?"

Chuck was instantly taken aback but she quickly recovered when Mary rephrased her question, "How did you meet yours?"

"Charlie and I grew up together."

_At least that's one childhood friendship that turned out._

"We both call each other 'the two Charlies" sometimes. It caused quite the ruckus at family reunions."

"Our butler preformed a show in Vaudeville called "The Two Charlies" before he went into service."

"What a coincidence!" Chuck put more salad on her plate without looking. Some of it not making it to her plate. She probably wasn't going to eat it anyway. "Though I don't think I ever heard of it."

"What it is that you do for a living? Matthew's a solicitor. And I help manage the estate. I'm the head agent."

"How very exciting! Though I'm afraid mines not as fascinating as yours. I'm still working as a secretary. Before that I was a nurse, during the war. Henry was an ambulance driver. That's how we met. Charlie wouldn't have met him if it weren't for me." There was still a bit of resentment behind her voice, evident that she was trying to hide it. "Anyway, I think we are the ones that are truly lucky."

"Oh?"

"We have the most desirable men in the room."

"Don't we!" Mary was thrilled at such a response. It was so true. She felt her love for Matthew flowing through her very soul. She sent it to their child.

Matthew was sitting next to Charlie, head inclined, listening intently as he spoke.

"I hurt my back numerous times. My doctor told me to give up racing. That if I didn't give it up, I would end up paralyzed. Maybe I should have listened."

"Don't feel guilty. That'll make you your own worst enemy."

Hearing those words being spoken, Mary beamed at him from across the table, their eyes catching. Something in them had lifted as he had said it, as if he was realising it himself for the first time. They were no longer haunted or filled with quilt or remorse or self loathing with himself. He was finally at peace.

* * *

**_AN: First off I would like to thank all my readers reviewers, without, this chapter wouldn't have been possible. I might end the story here as it would be a good note to end on. But I know some of you would want to see the birth of Caroline "Carrie" and the rest of the Crawley family's story continue. Thanks to all of you, Mary and Matthew's story that they deserved, will for ever be imortalised._**


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